In A New York Minute
by EKWTSM9
Summary: Things can change in a heartbeat - by a word, a deed, an action - deliberate or unintentional. Lives can be tossed around and relationships can suffer. And nothing will ever be the same...
1. Chapter 1

San Francisco Detective Lieutenant Mike Stone looked over the top of his black-framed reading glasses a split second after the six-page report hit his desk. His weary-looking partner was rubbing a hand over his face and trying somewhat successfully to stifle a yawn.

It was dark outside the venetian-blind covered window in the small inner office. The overhead fluorescents were off in the bullpen and only one desk was manned; a newly minted assistant inspector had drawn the highly unpopular overnight shift.

Putting down the file he was holding, Mike took his glasses off with one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other. As he put the glasses back on, he glanced at his watch. "There's no point in both of us sitting around here all night. Why don't you call it a night?"

Closing his eyes, putting his hands on his lower back and arching his shoulders, Inspector Steve Keller snorted a dry laugh. "You picked me up this morning, remember?"

"Yes, I remember," the older man intoned almost petulantly as he lifted the new report, his eyes already scanning the top page, "but you can take the car home and pick me up tomorrow morning." He glanced up with a brief wry smile. "I'm a big boy, I know how to take a cab."

Steve stopped moving and eyed his partner warily. "You're sure?" Without looking up from the report, Mike nodded. A huge grin erupted on the younger man's face. "You don't have to tell me twice." He turned on his heel and strode with renewed vigor back to his desk, snagging his jacket from the back of the chair.

He was shrugging the beige jacket on and had taken a step towards the outer office door when Mike's voice drifted out of the inner office. "Say hi to Ellie for me!"

Steve slid to a stop, freezing slightly before chuckling and shaking his head. With a deep loud sigh, he continued towards the door, his partner's hearty laugh ringing in his ears.

Smiling and chuckling, Mike reached down and pulled out the lower desk drawer, leaning back in his chair and putting his right foot on the metal lip.

Steve had met Eleanor Bridger a little more then three months before, and the homicide inspector had been immediately smitten with the stunning brunette prosecutor with low, gravelly voice and earthy sense of humour. Even with their heavy schedules and demanding professions, they had managed to spend a good deal of time together. They made sure they met for drinks at least three times a week, usually late in the evening, and had set aside one night a week, at a minimum, for dinner, either out or at home. They had just returned from a week's vacation in Cancun, and Mike had heard talk about them actually moving in together.

The older man's attention had strayed and, with a gentle chuckle, he looked back at the report in his hand. He had met Ellie a number of times, and had even joined them for dinner one night, and he was very impressed with the dynamic young woman who had seemed to capture his young partner's heart.

Mike sighed. In the past four years, he had seen a lot of women drift in and out of Steve's life; there had been a few he had looked upon affectionately and was disappointed when they disappeared. He had long ago stopped commenting on the revolving-door of his young friend's love life.

But this time was different; Ellie Bridger was in another category altogether. And for the first time in their years together, Mike could see a seriousness in his young partner that wasn't there before. Ellie Bridger could be _the one._

Mike grinned to himself. If he had anything to say about it, she definitely would be.

# # # # #

"So what time do you have to be there tomorrow?"

Ellie put her wineglass down then picked a giant shrimp off the rim of the cocktail glass, dipping it in the seafood sauce and bringing it to her mouth. "John wants the team there at 7. Opening arguments start at 9."

"I have the car, I can drop you off."

She looked at him, frowning with a slight smile. "I thought Mike had the car," she said before biting into the shrimp.

"He's staying late going over that report I had to finish. He's the reason I could make it here at a semi-decent hour. He's taking a cab home."

"Awww, he's a sweetie," she said with a gentle chuckle as she put the shrimp tail on the edge of the small white plate under the cocktail glass. "Remind me to buy him a drink the next time he goes out to dinner with us."

Laughing, Steve reached for a shrimp. "So, what do you think your chances are?"

"With Tolivar?" she asked, eyebrows raised, and he nodded. She shrugged, reaching for another shrimp. "At this point, your guess is as good as mine. We think we have enough but who knows? Tolivar has very deep pockets and he has the best defense team I've ever come up against. I mean, hell, they even have F. Lee Bailey as a consultant."

Steve grinned. "My money's on you." He laughed at her smirk, reaching for his wine and taking a sip, his eyes sparkling overtop of the glass.

"Thanks," she intoned dryly, then chuckled and continued. "Anyway, John's gonna want us to be there all day, every day, so this could be the last time we get to do this until the Tolivar case is over. And who knows how long that's going to be. It's a political hot potato."

He put the glass down with a thud. "Yeah, I know." They hadn't seen much of each other since their return from Mexico; Ellie had been deeply immersed in prep for the Tolivar case and he and Mike had caught a case, a high-profile foreign businessman killed by a jealous colleague, that had kept them busy day and night for over a week.

She reached across the table and laid her hand over his. She stared into his eyes and smiled with encouraging sadness. "You know, I think maybe we should start to think about combining our, ah…resources." She raised her eyebrows. "What do you think?"

"I think we both need another drink, and another shrimp cocktail. What do you say?"

She leaned back in her chair and grinned. "You're on." With a deep throaty laugh, she tossed her dark hair back and cocked her head, raising her right hand and snapping her fingers. "Garcon!"

Laughing, Steve sat back in his own chair and grinned.

# # # # #

The large tan sedan swung onto Union and pulled to the curb outside the small grey-blue clapboard apartment building. Both doors opened.

The street was deserted; Steve could see his old gold Porsche parked a little further down the cul-de-sac. There were no lights on anywhere along the short street; it was well past midnight and The City was asleep.

He opened the back door of the LTD and picked up the garment bag that was spread across the backseat. Ellie waited for him on the sidewalk, her overnight bag already in hand. Tossing the garment bag over his shoulder, he circled the car to join her on the sidewalk, stopping briefly to put his free hand on the back of her head and pull her into a quick kiss before leading the way up the short flights of stairs to his front door.

She preceded him over the threshold after he opened the door then took a step back, gesturing comically with a bow. A light in the living room snapped on and the door closed.

At the end of the cul-de-sac, the lights of a dark blue Ford Pinto snapped on as the engine turned over. Very slowly the small car crawled up the street, past the now lit apartment, and, without signaling, turned left onto Montgomery.


	2. Chapter 2

"So, ah, break a leg… or whatever it is they say to prosecutors on the first day of a major trial."

Steve was grinning across the front seat, looking better than he should have given the very short amount of time he had slept. Ellie had picked up her satchel and was halfway out the door; she turned back with a patronizing smirk.

"Nice try, but I think that's just for the theatre. How about _'Let's put the bastard away!'?_ How does that sound?"

Steve nodded with a facial shrug. "Sounds good to me. Put the bastard away!" he crowed, and she glanced around quickly, then leaned forward to shut him up by planting a kiss on his grinning lips.

As she turned away, getting out of the car, she muttered, "I have no idea how or why Mike puts up with you…" She slammed the door, then leaned back in the window and smiled warmly. "I love you," she whispered, and he stretched across the seat to kiss her once more before she straightened up and turned toward the courthouse entrance.

He watched as she strode across the sidewalk to the concrete steps, once more in awe of her beauty, her brains and his own luck, then shifted the car back into drive and pulled away from the curb. Neither of them spotted the dark blue Ford Pinto parked half a block away.

# # # # #

"Well, you're here on time for a change. Ellie have an early start this morning?" Mike asked with a smug grin as he got into the LTD, tossing his topcoat onto the back seat.

Staring through the windshield but unable to resist a smile, Steve nodded. "The Tolivar case starts this morning."

"Oh, geez, yeah. I forgot about that." The car pulled away from the curb. "This is her biggest case so far, right?"

"Yep. She's only second chair but still…"

"Hey, buddy boy, second chair is nothing to sneeze at. If they win this case, her career is made, you know that, right? This is the big leagues. No more Triple A for Ellie."

Steve smiled affectionately, at Ellie's opportunity and his partner's never-ending cock-eyed optimism.

"You know," Mike continued with, Steve knew, feigned gravity, "you better watch yourself or she's going to get so far ahead of you, you'll be eating her dust."

Chuckling, Steve glanced across the front seat. "Mike, you do realize, right, that she and I _aren't_ in the same profession? I'm a cop… remember?" he prompted pedantically, pointing to his chest, "and she's a lawyer… right?"

"Ah ah ah," Mike said, cocking his head and holding up his left index finger, "not just a lawyer, my boy, a _prosecutor_. Someone who's usually on our side, right?"

They shared a laugh then Mike shook his head, a warm, impressed smile lingering on his weary features. "Well, buddy boy, I don't know about you but I could've used a little more sleep. If we didn't have this meeting with Gerry, I could still be sawing logs and you could be sitting in the front row of Courthouse Number One."

"What time _did_ you get home?"

"Just after three." He chuckled quietly. "I might be getting a little too old for this…"

Steve laughed gently. "Listen, uh, if nothing comes up after we finish with Gerry, what say we take the rest of the day off." He glanced across the front seat. "You could go back to sleep and I could drop by the courthouse…"

Mike looked at him expressionlessly from under the brim of the grey fedora. "I'm liking your thinking…" he said solemnly, then grinned and slapped the younger man's arm before rubbing his hands over his face. "Oh," he moaned, "let's hope nobody killed nobody in the past twenty-four hours."

# # # # #

Expecting a large scrum outside Courtroom Number One, Steve was mildly surprised to see almost nobody except a couple of guards. He glanced at his watch; it was just after 1:30 p.m. Either the morning session was going exceptionally long or the trial had already been resumed after a lunch break, something he hadn't expected.

He glanced around, frustrated, then reluctantly pulled out his star and flashed it at the middle-aged guard outside the courtroom door. The guard nodded slightly and reached for the large brass handle, quietly pulling the heavy wooden door open far enough for the slightly-built inspector to slip through into the crowded court.

The room was quiet, every eye on the tall, grey-haired man standing at the podium set up opposite the judge's bench. Defense attorney Richard Atherton, one of the most successful and respected criminal defense lawyers in The City, and indeed the state, was presenting his opening argument.

Realizing quickly that there were no seats available, Steve slid quietly along the back wall, past the other standees, until he could see the prosecution table and the back of Ellie's head.

Atherton was in superb form as he laid out the defense's case, already calling into question the validity of the prosecution's evidence. He sounded very convincing; Steve knew ADA John Walters' team were going to have their work cut out for them.

While he knew quite a bit about the case, it was not one that he and Mike had worked on. It was actually an Oakland PD case; the venue had been moved to San Francisco because Atherton had successfully argued that Ronald Tolivar would be unable to receive a fair and unbiased trial in his native Oakland.

The rich and powerful, and, in certain circles, well-respected real estate magnate had been charged in the stabbing death of his wife. Though insisting that he was in a business meeting at the time of her death, there had been enough circumstantial evidence to bring charges against him.

The Oakland District Attorney had then decided that the San Francisco DA's office, who knew the denizens of their own city so much better, be allowed to take the lead on the prosecution. The two offices had joined forces; Atherton and Ellie were the leads on the San Francisco side, while Oakland ADA's Derek Simpson and Kyle Walker rounded out the team.

# # # # #

Steve shifted position, trying to work out the stiffness in his legs; he had been standing against the back wall for almost two hours, listening to Atherton lay out the broad strokes of the prosecution's case. He may have miscalculated, he realized with an almost imperceptible shrug and quiet chuckle; he hadn't meant to be standing there almost all afternoon. But the courtroom was being tightly run and if he'd left, Judge Athol Green, with whom he'd already had a couple of uncomfortable run-ins over the past few years, would certainly take notice. He did not want to be banned from the courtroom.

Atherton finally wrapped up, and the judge gaveled the proceedings to a close for the day, reminding those assembled that they would resume the next morning at 10 a.m. sharp. As the crowd began to exit, Steve pressed himself up against the wall as people pushed past him. He kept his eyes on Ellie, who had stood along with the other members of her team.

When the courtroom had emptied out enough to move around, Steve wound his way to the bar and slid up quietly behind his girlfriend. He waited until Walters had finished his instructions then tapped Ellie on the shoulder. She turned her head with a frown, which immediately softened into a surprised and happy smile. "What are you doing here?"

Steve chuckled. "We had our meeting with Gerry then we took the rest of the day off."

"How long have you been here?" She turned to face him after a glance back at her boss.

"I got here just after Atherton started." He chuckled, cocking his head. "He's certainly an impressive speaker."

Ellie snorted. "He's a wind-bag. We're gonna poke holes all over his bloated theories."

Steve chortled. "That's my girl. Listen, ah, I know this is a longshot, but do you think we could grab a quick dinner before you guys go into another huddle?"

She grimaced. "I wish I could, Steve, but John wants us to go over Atherton's opening and start to put together our strategy. We have a working dinner." She inhaled deeply. "I have a feeling I'm gonna be having a lot of these. Sorry."

"Hey, no worries. I know all about that. I think I've eaten more meals in the office and in the car than I ever have at home in the past four years." He leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss. "Don't work too late."

"I won't. But, ah, I'm gonna go back to my place tonight after I finish." She looked quickly back over her shoulder, then leaned closer and dropped her voice even lower. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't need any distractions… if you know what I mean."

Steve dropped his head closer to hers and smiled warmly. "I know exactly what you mean. And I think I'm almost flattered to be called a distraction." He chuckled. "Good luck," he whispered then kissed her lightly. "I'm gonna get out of here and let you get back to work." He turned to go then looked back. "Oh, I almost forgot, Mike says hi."

Ellie laughed throatily, shaking her head. "Say hi back." She glanced once more over her shoulder and then mouthed, "I love you."

He grinned and mouthed the words back to her before he started up the aisle towards the exit.

# # # # #

He put the dirty plate and cutlery on the counter, then picked up the glass of beer and re-entered the living room, dropping heavily onto the couch and putting his feet on the coffee table. His eyes on Walter Cronkite, he took a sip of beer then set the bottle on the table and reached for the newspaper that lay on the floor at his feet.

He glanced at the front page then slipped the top section free, letting the rest drop once more to the rug. He had just snapped the paper open to an inside page when a knock on the front door caught his attention.

Sitting up a little straighter and frowning, he glanced down at his watch then towards the door. He wasn't expecting anybody. He folded the paper, tossed it onto the couch beside him and got to his feet.

He looked through the peephole in the door before unlocking it and swinging it open. A tiny, rather plain-looking young woman with straight dirty blonde hair, wearing a pink granny dress and a wide, excited smile stood on the stoop.

"Steve!" she squealed and propelled herself forward, wrapping her arms around him before he could react. He didn't move as she rocked him back and forth, giggling. She pulled away and looked up at him, beaming. "Don't you remember?" she asked, eyes wide.

Smiling tentatively, he shook his head.

"It's me – Donna! Remember Mount Shasta, about 19 months ago? That week we all spent together – you, me, Maria and Charlie and the others? We all went hiking and camping…?" Her grin began to waver. "You and Maria were going out then, remember… and we all got together…?"

Steve started slightly, his memory being jogged. "Oh… oh, yeah, right, Maria…" He hesitated, not sure how to continue. "Uhm, Maria and I aren't seeing each other anymore…" he offered hesitantly.

"Oh, I know," Donna cut him off enthusiastically. "She told me."

He nodded vaguely. "Oh…" He raised his eyebrows. "So, ah, is there something I can do for you?"

She stared into his eyes and smiled warmly. "Well, I sure hope so." Her eyes slid past him briefly and she pointed into the house. "Uhm, is it okay if I come in?"

Startled, he shook his head quickly and took a step back. "Oh, of course, I'm sorry. Please, come on in." He gestured towards the living room and she stepped over the threshold.

As he closed the door, he didn't see the dark blue Ford Pinto parked down the block.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve watched as the young woman strode confidently into his living room and sat on the couch, stepping over the newspaper on the floor. Holding her oversized leather purse on her lap, she looked around the room, wide-eyed and smiling, her eyes lingering on the stack of record albums leaning against the leg of the small table with the obviously expensive Marantz turntable on top.

Steve took a hesitant step into the room and cleared his throat. "Uhm, can I get you a cup of coffee? I just put a fresh pot on." He gestured vaguely towards the kitchen.

"Oh!" she gasped brightly, turning to him with a happy grin, her head bobbing enthusiastically. "Yes… yes, please, I'd love one. Milk and sugar, please."

Steve nodded once then, with a grim half-smile and his eyebrows furrowed, disappeared into the kitchen. He emerged less than a minute later, a steaming cup in his hand, to find Donna on her knees on the carpet, going through the records, holding two of them up. "You do have them!" she exclaimed, sounding surprised and awed.

His frown deepening, Steve put the cup on the end of the coffee table closest to her. "I have what?"

"The Lenny Bruce albums. I remember you telling us about seeing him at The Fillmore with Zappa and the Mothers, his last performance. And none of us believed you. You said you had his albums too, and we didn't believe you about that either. You just didn't seem like the Lenny Bruce type."

Steve picked up his beer and sat in the armchair. He continued to stare at his mysterious visitor, who was now chuckling at the psychedelic cover drawing on the "Thank You Masked Man" album she held in one hand. Snippets of memory kept flicking through his mind; he remembered being in Mount Shasta almost two years ago but so far that was all he could recall. It hadn't been a good time in his life.

"I always thought you were more of a Shelley Berman man… or maybe even Bob Newhart," she muttered softly as she stared at the back of the second album before returning them to the stack. She flipped through the pile. "And you have a lot of jazz tracks too, just like you said."

With a short laugh, she sat back and swiveled on her bottom to face the coffee table, picking up the cup and wrapping both hands around its warmth. "Thank you," she said sweetly before taking a sip.

He continued to stare, almost unblinking, as if not sure what to say next.

"Hmmm, that's good," she sighed after she swallowed, then looked straight into his eyes. "Wow, you were a hard man to track down. All I remembered was you were a cop in San Francisco but for some reason, when you call them up and ask for someone named Steve – I didn't know your last name," she giggled, "they're not too enthusiastic about helping. They wanted me to be more specific, the stupid pi-" She caught herself, stopping mid-word, and looked down. She swallowed heavily and her eyes slowly slid up to gaze at him from under her lowered brow, looking guilty and remorseful.

"Sorry," she said quietly.

Steve couldn't resist a small, forgiving smile. "That's okay," he said with a small chuckle, "I've been called a pig before." He took a sip of his beer.

"Oh, god, I didn't mean _you_ were a pig," she said quickly, getting to her knees, "I just meant…" She sighed heavily and shrugged.

With a laugh, Steve sat back, cradling his beer. "It's okay, believe me, it's okay."

Her grin returned and she sat back. "Oh, thank you. I always thought you weren't the typical, you know, _man_ ," she giggled again, "like some of my friends think. You seemed a little more, I don't know… more like one of us." She finished softly, staring at him with a tender smile.

"Thank you," he returned gently with a smile of his own.

Donna looked down at the mug in her hand then cleared her throat. "Well, ah, I guess you're wondering why I'm here." She looked up at him again.

Continuing to smile, he leaned forward slightly and nodded. "It, ah, it had crossed my mind."

Putting the cup back on the coffee table, she stood up and moved to the couch, sitting down beside her leather bag and pulling it closer. "Well, you do remember the week we all shared in Mount Shasta, right?"

Watching her closely, Steve snorted a short laugh. "Well, some of it. I have to admit, it was not my finest hour… or week, for that matter." As reluctant as he was to admit it, even to himself, it was a time in his life he wished would go away.

"Well, you hid that pretty well, Steve. All we saw… well, all _I_ saw anyway was that Maria's boyfriend was in a lot of pain, and we needed to help him get through it." She leaned forward slightly, staring into his eyes. "I was right, wasn't I?"

He didn't move for several seconds and when he opened his mouth, nothing came out right away. "It…ah…it was a hard time, yeah. To be perfectly honest, I don't remember much of what happened that week."

She chuckled gently. "I'm not surprised. But you got through it, and I think you even had a good time, even if you don't remember it all."

He raised his eyebrows and laughed slightly. "Well, I'll have to take your word for that."

Her smile quickly disappeared and she seemed to catch herself momentarily, looking away. "Well, ah, you have more than just my word," she whispered enigmatically.

He froze, staring at her downturned face, then leaned forward slightly. Every hair on his forearms and the back of his neck was now standing at attention.

Very slowly she reached into her bag. "I don't expect you to remember…" she began slowly, "but one night when we were camping… well, you were having a particularly bad night…" She withdrew her hand to the edge of the bag then paused. "Maria had gone for a walk under the stars with Charlie and some of the others… You'd been drinking heavily from a large bottle of mezcal that you brought with you…"

She paused again, staring at the leather bag in her lap. "You were in such pain… I tried to comfort you, to tell you everything was going to be all right…" She cleared her throat lightly. "You pulled me down beside you in the tent… you were so gentle and so sweet…" She inhaled deeply and released it slowly and raggedly. "I'd never been with a man before…"

The blood suddenly pounded in his ears and he felt light-headed. He couldn't move as he watched her pull a small colour photograph from the bag and hold it out with a shaking hand. Very slowly, almost reluctantly he looked down at the smiling face of a toddler with light brown hair.

"Steve Keller, meet your son."

# # # # #

The loud knock on the front door startled him and his head snapped around quickly, glaring in the direction of the offending sound. Mike glanced at his watch as he got to his feet, grumbling. "What the hell…?"

Still growling, he flung the door open, ready to pounce, but stopped abruptly when his obviously agitated partner shouldered past him into the warmly lit home. Steve stopped in the middle of the living room, shuffling restlessly, looking down and rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

His brow furrowing in concern, Mike slowly closed the door. "Steve…" he said quietly and slowly, "what's going on?"

The eyes that finally settled on the older man were filled with an almost overwhelming worry, and Mike's heart skipped a beat.

"Is it Ellie? Has something happened between you and Ellie?" he asked gently.

Steve quickly shook his head. "Uhm, ah, no… no, uh, Ellie's fine… we're fine. It's, ah, it's something else."

Mike gestured towards the sofa with his chin. "Take a seat." As Steve did, he crossed to the TV and snapped it off; he'd have to hope the network would repeat that particular episode of "Police Story" so he could find out how it ended, though he thought he already knew.

Before settling into the armchair, Mike asked, "You want a cup of coffee or something? I have half a pot I could reheat."

Steve smiled his perfunctory thanks. "No, that's okay, I'm fine."

"Okay," Mike said easily, sitting on the edge of the armchair. "So, tell me, what's got you so rattled?"

The younger man was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, staring unfocused at the carpet. He inhaled deeply and loudly. "Do you remember around, ah, a little less than two years ago, shortly after the, uh, Davies boy and, ah, when you got… hit…?" He gestured vaguely towards Mike's right shoulder.

The older man nodded, frowning. "Sure, of course, what about it?"

"Well, ah, do you remember I took that week off while you were recovering and went up north… to do a little camping and hiking and try to get my head on straight again…?" He looked up and met the warm blue eyes with a self-conscious snort.

"Yeah, I remember," Mike said softly, then waited.

Steve looked back down at the floor and exhaled loudly. "I, ah, I don't remember much about that week, Mike… I had a lot of demons to put to rest and I spent a great deal of time those first few days trying to get _away_ from my… problems instead of confronting them." He looked up and stared into his partner's worried eyes. "What I'm trying to say is, I spent several days in a drunken stupor."

This was the first time Mike had heard this; he stared at the younger man evenly, then very slowly leaned back in the armchair, resting his hands on the arms of the chair and crossing his legs. He waited, knowing that more would be forthcoming and there was no point in losing his temper over something so far in the past.

Emboldened, Steve inhaled deeply again. "Well, I did get my head straightened out. It wasn't easy but… I guess I just had to come to grips with the reality that there are things in this life that I can't control and I just have to accept that." He closed his eyes; for a few brief seconds images of the lifeless Spencer Davies lying on the concrete sidewalk in The Cannery and the limp body of his wounded partner cradled in his arms in the church flashed through his mind.

"Anyway, ah," he continued quietly, "what I'm getting at is, well, I really have no recollection of what I may or may not have done those first few days." He paused.

"Okay," Mike said slowly, "so what does that have to do with… uh…?" He gestured vaguely towards the younger man.

Steve exhaled loudly. "This, ah, this young woman showed up at my door tonight. Donna her name is. She, ah, she was a part of the bunch of us who were in Mount Shasta that week." He hesitated, and Mike slowly uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in the armchair; he didn't like the direction this was starting to go.

Inhaling loudly and deeply again, Steve looked up into his partner's suddenly wide eyes and exhaled slowly. "Mike, she says I'm the father of her son. And I have a feeling she's telling me the truth."


	4. Chapter 4

Mike put his hand over his mouth, his gaze turning inward. The silence between them lengthened as Steve continued to stare at the floor. Finally Mike cleared his throat gently and his hand slid down to his chin. "What makes you think she's telling you the truth?"

Steve took a deep breath and snorted softly. "She, ah, she showed me a picture. The kid looks just like me when I was a year old. He even has the dimple."

Mike waited for more of an explanation but none came. He sat back quickly and shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "That's it?" he asked sharply. "She showed you a picture of some kid?"

Sagging slightly, Steve stared at him through narrowed eyes. "Not _some kid…_ her son."

Mike rolled his eyes theatrically and sighed loudly. "Tell me again what you do for a living?"

"What?" The one-word question was short, sharp and laced with pique.

The older man's striking blue eyes seemed to bore a hole into the younger man's brain as he sighed loudly once again with a long-suffering, "Oy!" He shook his head in mock despair. "So, what? She shows you a picture of this kid, and you believe that the kid is not only hers but yours as well. Is this what you're telling me?"

Steve stared at him for several long seconds, his expression unchanging. Eventually he closed his eyes and slumped, dropping his head.

"Don't beat yourself up," Mike said gently with a soft chuckle, "she blindsided you. It's nothing new. It's happened before and it'll happen again. Someone comes at you with something so personal, so… life changing that you completely forget all your training and all your smarts… and you believe them."

Steve's frown deepened even more but the barest trace of hope could be seen in his eyes. "You think that's what she's doing?" he asked quietly, trying to keep the optimism in check.

Mike snorted again. "Well, I'd have to talk to her myself to be sure but, buddy boy, you might be jumping to the wrong conclusion here, you know, the conclusion she wants you to come to. Now, did she _say_ he was your son?"

Nodding, Steve's frown returned. "Yeah. Yeah, she did."

"And you believed her?"

Steve sat back slightly, not meeting his partner's bemused stare. "Mike, the more she talked, the more I started to remember about that week. There _were_ a bunch of us, friends of Maria's." Mike started slightly at the mention of a girlfriend long since lost to the vagaries of time; the younger man didn't seem to notice. "This… Donna does look familiar… I mean, I _think_ I remember her. Her, or someone very much like her, at least. I remember this young blonde girl hanging around us with this camera. She was always taking pictures. It could have been her; I just don't remember." He hesitated for a second. "And she seemed to know so much about me…"

"Oh yeah? What, specifically?" Mike hoped he had kept the growing skepticism out of his voice.

Steve bobbled his head, smiling vaguely to himself. "Well, she knew about my Lenny Bruce records…"

"Your Lenny Bruce records?" the older man echoed flatly. "Really? And that was enough to convince you that you're the father of this anonymous child?"

Starting to feel a little picked on, Steve's head snapped up. "His name is Joshua," he said softly, his voice tinged with a hint of petulance.

"Joshua?" Steve nodded. "So… why didn't she call him Steve? After his father…"

The younger man's stare turned inward momentarily as he gave this observation some thought then he shook his head sharply and refocused. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure she _was_ at Mount Shasta with us… and…" he closed his eyes and sighed heavily, "I'm pretty sure I was… let's say… _generous_ with my… affection…" He was staring once more at the carpet.

With a warm and understanding smile, Mike leaned forward, reaching out to put a comforting hand on the younger man's knee. Steve was more rattled than he'd seen in a long, long time, and it was beginning to rattle him. "Look," he said gently, "why don't you let me take a look at this, find out who this girl is and if all this is on the up and up."

When Steve looked at him sharply, he continued firmly but quietly, "I'll be discreet. She won't even know she's being investigated." The younger man looked away, which Mike took as a sign of compliance.

"So, where is she now, do you know? I assume she hasn't been living here, so is she staying in somewhere in town now, do you know?" A sudden thought occurred to him and he asked with barely concealed alarm, "You didn't leave her at your place, did you?"

"Of course not," Steve responded with an almost irritated snort. "She said she's staying in a motel in Daly City."

"Where the kid?"

"Sacramento. That's where she lives. He's with her mom, she said."

Mike nodded, digesting the information. "Did you get her last name?"

"Well, if it's the same as her son, Atkinson. She said his name was Joshua James Atkinson."

"Atkinson," Mike muttered. "And how old do you think she is… ballpark?"

It was a double-edged question, Steve knew, and he hesitated slightly before answering. It was necessary information, he realized, but he also knew Mike was worried about the spectre of her being underage when the alleged tryst had taken place, laying open the possibility of a charge of sexual interference with a minor. His initial anger at the implication of the question was mitigated by the simple fact that he knew Mike was on his side, now and forever.

Steve shook his head slightly. "Twenty-one, twenty-two at least. She could be older. She has one of those…faces, you know… it's hard to tell." But suddenly he recalled her saying he was her first, and he froze almost imperceptibly at the memory.

"What?" Mike asked, recognizing the brief hiccup in his young friend's demeanour; he was a master at reading people. It's what made him such a great detective; he never missed a thing.

Steve glanced up again, smiling reassuringly. "Nothing," he said calmly, "I was just trying to remember something else about her."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

"Okay." The older man sighed and sat back. "Well, like I said, you leave this to me for the next few days and let's see what I can come up with, all right?"

Steve nodded, almost relieved that he was able to share this with someone he knew had his best interests at heart. The drive from his apartment to this house had been one of the longest and loneliest in his life; he'd had no idea how his partner would react, although he did know that, however he felt personally about the situation, Mike would be there for him.

"So, what do you think she wants out of all this?" Mike asked quietly. "Child support? Or, dare I say… marriage?"

Expecting an angry retort, Mike was almost surprised to see the younger man close his eyes and take a deep breath. "She, ah, she didn't say exactly. She told me she just wanted me to know that I had a son. She wasn't any more specific than that, but I do have a feeling she's going to have a lot more to say when I see her again."

"And when is that?"

"Tomorrow. I told her I'd meet her for breakfast at Carine's. She's thrilled," he finished dryly with a sad shake of his head.

"I bet." Mike eyed his distraught partner with a sympathetic smile. "Look, why don't you head back home, try to get some sleep. Take tomorrow off, why don't you? I'll tell Rudy you came down with the flu or a 24-hour bug or something. And you meet with this Donna person again and see if you can figure out what her motive is, if she's really telling you the truth or she's just out to get something from you.

"I'll start to do a little background check on her and see if she's on the up and up and then we can try to figure out what we can do about all this. What do you think?"

Steve stared at the older man with gratitude and appreciation. "Well, other than the fact that I seriously doubt I'll be getting any sleep tonight, that sounds like a plan."

"Good," said Mike forcefully, getting to his feet. Steve followed suit and as they crossed the living room to the front door, the older man slid an arm across his shoulders. "Why don't you come over here for dinner tomorrow night and we can compare notes? That is, if I've come up with anything. If not, well, we can just – oh, what do you young people call it? Oh yeah, chill out. What do you say?"

With a warm laugh, Steve opened the front door. "I'd like that." He turned to face his partner, his smile wavering. "Thanks, Mike. I don't know what –"

"Get some sleep," Mike interrupted with pretend gruffness, wagging a forefinger, "and I'll see you tomorrow."

# # # # #

Steve was sitting in his Porsche outside the De Haro Street house when the tan LTD pulled into the open space at the curb behind him. The driver's side door opened and a weary-looking Mike Stone, his tie loosened, collar button undone and hat slightly askew got out, eyeing the gold sports car with a grin.

As the younger man emerged from the low-slung sports car, he chuckled. "I thought you were going to get home at a decent hour tonight." He reached back into the car and reappeared with a large pizza box. "We're gonna have to reheat this."

Slamming the heavy door, Mike laughed. He had no problem eating cold pizza but he knew his partner preferred his piping hot. "I think the stove is working," he chuckled as they stepped onto the sidewalk. "And I think there are still a few cold cans of Bud in the fridge as well."

"Perfect," Steve nodded as he started to climb the stairs. Once inside, he headed straight for the kitchen and turned the oven on.

Mike kicked off his shoes and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. By the time he returned, in a checked shirt and khakis, Steve had set the table and an open can of beer was waiting for him on the counter. He picked it up and took a long draught. "Oh, I needed that," he sighed with a chuckle, trying to suppress a burp.

With a warm laugh, Steve glanced at the clock on the stove. "The pizza should be hot again in about five." He leaned against the counter and looked at his partner, who had taken a seat at the table. "So, you come up with anything?"

"Oh, I'm going first, am I? Okay, well, I couldn't get everything done that I wanted to, but I did find out that yes, her name is Donna Atkinson, middle name Elizabeth, and she was born in 1952, which makes her twenty-two."

He paused to let this piece of information sink in and was pleased to see the look of relief that quickly passed over his young friend's face.

"She does have a 10-month-old son named Joshua James. I haven't gotten my hands on a copy of the birth certificate yet – I'm expecting that to be faxed to the office tomorrow sometime – so I have no idea what's on it regarding a father.

"And she lives in Sacramento with her mother. Always has. Her father passed away five years ago and she has an older sister and a younger brother, both still at home as well. She has no criminal record, at least as far as the Sacramento Police Department is concerned. But her older sister had a baby girl out of wedlock four years ago."

He stopped talking and eyed his partner, whose look had turned inward as he spoke. He knew it wasn't much information as yet, but it did establish Donna Atkinson's bona fides in terms of her identity. And, unfortunately, her validity.

Clearing his throat slightly, Mike asked, "So, ah, what did you and her talk about over breakfast, may I ask?"

Steve took a deep breath before meeting his partner's eyes, his expression unreadable. "Well, you were right," he began slowly. "She wants us to get married."


	5. Chapter 5

Steve pulled the pizza box out of the oven and set it on the counter, taking off the oven mitts. As he flipped the top open, Mike handed him the cutter and he expertly re-sliced the pie and pulled two large pieces free, tearing the stringy cheese and dropping them onto the waiting plates. He washed his hands at the sink as Mike carried the two plates to the table.

They had both swallowed their first bites when Mike finally asked, "So what, exactly, did she say to you?"

Steve looked down at his plate, one hand on the slice. He cocked his head and snorted dryly. "Well, she didn't come right out and say it, but she implied, more than once, that she thought every child needs two parents, and how much she missed her father, and how she thought I'd make a terrific Dad."

"So… what did you say to that?"

Steve chuckled mirthlessly. "Well, there wasn't too much I could say, really. I mean, until I know for sure if this is my kid or not, I'm not going to say anything that she could misinterpret, you know…" He looked up and smiled. "I guess I have learned a thing or two about covering my ass these past few years."

Mike beamed. "Good for you." The smiled disappeared slightly. "Oh, about that. I had a talk with Bernie and my own doctor. Seems there is no clear cut way to prove fatherhood. They can do a blood test of course. But that's it. So, what I want to do is find out what this kid's blood type is and, if it's a match to yours, well, that's one more hurdle we might have to get over, buddy boy."

It was a sobering thought, and they both fell silent. Eventually Mike picked up his slice and took another bite. Steve did the same.

Into the silence, Mike ventured, "You'd think that in this day and age, they would have come up with some way to tell if a guy is actually a father or not, don't you think?"

Steve knew the question was rhetorical, but he nodded anyway.

"Bernie says he thinks they're working on it – something to do with… oh, what is it? Letters… starts with a 'D'… 'D'…?" He was groping for the anagram.

"DNA," Steve offered.

"That's it!" Mike whooped triumphantly, pointing at the younger man, "DNA. What the hell is DNA anyway, do you know?"

Steve bobbled his head. "Something to do with our genes, it's the… code, they call it, that makes us all unique. It's been said that when they crack the DNA code, they can prove that everyone has a different set of genes and they'll be able to tell us apart just by that. It's in our saliva and our blood and skin cells. Supposedly we leave traces of it behind all the time." Mike had been staring at him, slack-jawed, during his explanation and he grinned. "Might make our jobs obsolete."

"So," Mike began slowly, trying to understand everything he had just been told, "you mean they'll be able to tell if someone was in a room, let's say when a murder took place, just by the fact that they might have touched something in that room?"

"Uhm-humh," Steve nodded with a bemused and affectionate smile.

"Hunh." Mike slumped in his chair. "Then they wouldn't need us anymore, would they? I hope I'm retired before they come up with that." Looking a little overwhelmed and disconcerted, he reached for the slice on his plate and took another bite.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Michael," Steve offered with a chuckle, "I think they'll still need someone to tell them _where_ to look."

Mike looked up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes, then he laughed. "You're right, it's like crying over spilt milk – nothing I can do about it. But there is something I can do about your situation, I'm sure. Listen, give me a couple more days, I have an idea I want to run with." Steve opened his mouth to say something but Mike cut him off. "And no, I'm not going to tell you. In case it's another dead end, I don't want to get your hopes up."

Steve shrugged with a resigned sigh.

"But, I want you in the office tomorrow. Everybody's tied up right now and we're up for the next case and I have a feeling something is going to cross my desk sooner than later." Mike was notorious for being able to forecast an impending case. "So what's next with little Miss Donna, do you know?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, she headed back to Sacramento after we had breakfast. She's going to come back here this weekend with the boy so I can _meet my son._ " The lack of enthusiasm in his voice was plainly evident and the older man's heart broke.

"Well," he said comfortingly, "maybe by this weekend we'll know whether or not all this is legitimate, pardon the pun, or not. And we'll see where we go from there."

# # # # #

Mike's hunch proved correct. Overnight a gas station attendant had been killed; the lifeless body of the young man had been discovered by a motorist who had pulled into the station just before sunrise.

Wanting to keep his partner's mind occupied, Mike let Steve take the lead and the younger man was more than grateful. With no discernible leads to go on, it was going to take a great deal of good old-fashioned police work, and lots of shoe leather, to bring the perpetrator to justice. Steve began assembling a team.

Gratified that every effort was being done to apprehend the cold-blooded killer or killers, Mike resumed his efforts to suss out the true purpose behind the sudden appearance of Donna Atkinson in his partner's life. For reasons that he couldn't fully understand, he was not convinced that her motives were truly altruistic with regards to her son; he was almost positive there was a more sinister agenda behind it all.

Steve was still in the field when the fax arrived. Mike was waiting for it as it rolled out of the noisy machine, the paper almost wet to the touch. He carried it back to his office by one corner and laid it on the desk. He put on his reading glasses as he sat and picked it up, his eyes immediately going to the box marked _Father._ It was blank.

"Humh," he snorted softly to himself as he sat back and contemplated what this could mean. He looked at the birth certificate once more, found another box, this one filled in, and smiled. Suddenly rejuvenated, he leaned forward quickly and snatched the receiver from the cradle, waiting for the connection to establish. "Yes, I want to place a long distance call to Sacramento. To a…" he looked at the certificate again, "a Doctor Howard Tomlinson."

# # # # #

The sun was setting when Steve dragged himself into the almost deserted bullpen and slumped into his chair. Mike glanced up from behind his desk and took his glasses off.

"Anything?" he shouted across the expanse between their desks.

Rubbing a tired hand over his closed eyes, Steve yelled back, "Not a thing. But maybe one of the overnight regulars saw something. I'm having two of the boys stay at the station all night and talk to anybody who comes in. Probably do that for the next few nights and see if we come up with anything."

"That sounds like a good plan," Mike said as he got to his feet, picking up his notebook and crossing around the desk and into the bullpen. He dropped into Steve's guest chair and tossed the notebook on the desk.

Eyeing the book, Steve asked tentatively, "So, did you come up with anything new?"

Mike inhaled deeply and raised his eyebrows with a closed-mouth facial shrug. "Not so good, I'm afraid. I, ah, I finally got a copy of the birth certificate. Turns out the box for 'Father' is blank, which is a point for our side. But I also got in touch with the pediatrician who was looking after Miss Atkinson when she had the baby, and he told me the baby's blood type."

Steve froze and their eyes locked. Mike blinked slowly and shook his head. "It's the same as yours."

Steve slumped back in his chair, his gaze drifting away. "Damn it," he muttered, almost soundlessly.

Mike stared at him. "Now you know that it's still not a slam dunk… you know that, right? None of this proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are that baby's father."

"But it is starting to look more and more like I am, isn't it?" Steve stared at the older man, knowing that all he had been hoping for – making a life with Ellie, starting a family with her – was rapidly slipping from his grasp.

"Don't give up hope, Steve. I'm not done yet and I don't think you should be either. Do you hear me?"

Reluctantly the younger man nodded. But they both knew that doubt was gaining the upper hand.

Sighing loudly, Mike started to get to his feet. "Have you been able to see Ellie at all in the past forty-eight hours?"

Steve shook his head. "No, but we have talked on the phone a couple of times. She's really busy. I'm finding out more about what she's doing reading the paper every day than I do talking to her. But she's having the time of her life; she's really in her element." He paused, his expression soft and full of admiration. "I'm really proud of her."

Mike grinned. "You should be. And you and her are going to make dynamite parents a few years down the road, you know that, right?"

Startled, Steve looked up into the older man's smiling face and, for a split second, the huge wall of doubt that seemed to loom over him lost a few bricks. With a laugh, Mike winked then strode back into his office, whistling softly.

# # # # #

Saturday rolled around a lot faster than either of them had expected. Steve's decision to leave a pair of detectives at the gas station overnight had paid off. On the second night, a cab driver who was also a regular customer remembered seeing an unfamiliar dark green older model GMC van parked at the side of the station. After filling his tank, the cabbie had gone inside the station to pay, but the clerk was nowhere to be found. Thinking that the attendant was in the washroom, the cabbie had left the money on the counter.

He had glanced again at the van as he returned to his cab and noticed that the license plate was from Nevada. He couldn't remember a letter or number, but the fact that it was an out-of-state plate made the cops' job a little easier.

An APB had been put out for a dark green GMC van with Nevada plates, and less than eight hours later, it had been spotted by a black-and-white in the North Beach area. Steve arranged for a stake-out of the van, and within three hours, two unsuspecting young men were arrested for murder and robbery as they casually, and obliviously, sauntered to their van on their way to dinner.

Steve celebrated his success by taking the night off, talking to Ellie for over an hour on the phone, then catching a late movie. He had a feeling his world was about to be torn apart; he just didn't know in what way.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve and Mike were already in the booth when Donna came through the door of the busy diner with the toddler in her arms. Both men scrambled to their feet as she approached. Mike took a step back as Donna walked straight up to Steve, turning the small boy so Steve could see his face.

Before he could say anything, Donna said brightly, "Joshua, I want you to meet your Daddy."

Steve froze, his eyes snapping quickly to Mike as he shifted uncomfortably. Suddenly at a loss for words, he snorted softly then cleared his throat. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Joshua," he said with an almost inaudible self-conscious laugh as the toddler looked at him then raised his head to stare at the bright ceiling fixture above his head.

Chuckling gently, Mike took a step forward and Donna's eyes swiveled to take him in.

"Oh, ah," Steve said quickly, flustered, "Donna Atkinson, this is my partner, Mike Stone." He gestured vaguely towards the older man.

Bowing formally and beaming, Mike laughed, "I'm pleased to meet you, Donna." He turned his smiling blue eyes on Joshua. "And I'm especially pleased to meet you, young man." He managed to grab onto the youngster's flailing right hand and pumped it formally.

Donna laughed delightedly, and Steve was once again astounded at how his partner could take the tension out of almost any situation.

"Oh, ah, please, sit down," he said, gesturing to the far side of booth from where he was standing. A restaurant employee had approached their table with a baby seat and, looking around quickly, Donna stretched her arms out, holding Joshua towards Steve, expecting him to take the child.

After a few seconds of stunned silence from everyone, Mike laughed and stepped forward. "Here, I'll take the boy," he said as he took Joshua from his mother's arms and held him in the crook of his arm.

Donna took the booster seat from the waitress and put it on the Naugahyde-covered bench seat, then retrieved her son from Mike, who was busy bouncing the child up and down as he stared into his face. As Mike passed the boy back, he glanced at Steve; the younger man could tell from his expression that both of them were disconcerted by the strong resemblance.

Mike could sense a mounting depression in his young friend. He pointed at the seat they had just vacated and they both sat back down. Mike glanced at Steve, waiting for him to break the ice, but when the younger man said nothing, Mike grinned. "I, ah, I only have a few minutes, I'm afraid. I have another commitment this morning. We cops don't get many days off, and we have to pile of lot of things, you know, errands and that kinda stuff, into a very short period of time."

"Oh, that's okay, I understand. It's great you could spend some time with us, though. Isn't that right, Joshy?" Donna cooed to the young boy.

Mike glanced at the man beside him. Steve couldn't seem to keep his eyes off the toddler. Mike knew it wasn't a good sign, but there was nothing he could do, surreptitiously, to break the spell that had seemed to overpower his young friend.

Mike turned his attention to Donna. "So, ah, Steve didn't tell me how long you're going to be spending in San Francisco?"

"Oh, ah, well, we're gonna head home tomorrow for a bit, but when Steve is ready, we're gonna make the move here. It shouldn't be too long, I hope."

"Ah," Mike said noncommittally, nodding vaguely, trying not to glance as his unresponsive seatmate. "Well, that'll be great for everyone."

He felt Steve turn in his direction; he dared not meet the green eyes that were burning a hole into the side of his head.

# # # # #

Mike made his excuses, gave Steve money for his share of breakfast, and left the diner. He had a full day ahead of him. Though he had told Donna that he had a ton of errands to run, he was actually doing no such thing.

He was going on a road trip – to Sacramento. And he hadn't told Steve either.

As he started down the street to his own blue sedan, his eyes fell on the dark blue Ford Pinto that, through the diner's large picture window, he had seen Donna and her son arrive in. Knowing she was on the side of the booth facing away from the window, he altered his trajectory and made a beeline for the compact.

The front doors were locked and the windows up, but in the backseat he could see a 35mm camera lying on the floorboard, partially tucked under the passenger seat.

" _She was always taking pictures…"_ he heard Steve's voice in his head.

He looked closer; there seemed to be a camera store envelope of prints stuffed under the passenger seat as well. Glancing up and down the street, hoping he was not being observed, he tried the handle on the back door. His heart almost skipped a beat when the door opened.

Quickly, he reached under the seat and pulled the envelope out, then sat on the curb. Glancing around rapidly once more, he opened the flap and tipped the contents of the envelope into his left hand. About two dozen 4x6 colour prints appeared. Dropping the envelope to the curb beside him, he began to shuffle through the prints like cards.

The top five were of Joshua and what he supposed were other members of Donna's family. Sighing in frustration, he froze suddenly, catching his breath. The next photo was a shot of Steve walking across the street in front of his house.

Mike flipped the next two photos; they were of Steve as well, another one at the house, one in the parking lot at Bryant Street. He kept looking. There were two more of Steve talking to a uniformed officer at a crime scene.

Mike stopped, staring at the print. Steve was wearing his herringbone jacket. He hadn't worn that jacket for over a month, since he'd snagged a sleeve on an errant nail. He had taken the jacket to his tailor's to be repaired and hadn't worn it since.

Swallowing hard, Mike rifled through the rest of the photos. They were all of Steve, except for the last three. Those ones were of Steve and Ellie: exiting Steve's car in front of his house, kissing on the sidewalk, and standing on the stoop in front of the open door.

Working quickly, Mike put the photos back in the order he had found them, slid them into the envelope and put it back precisely where he had found it, under the camera under the seat. Carefully, he picked up the camera for a quick glimpse; it had a telephoto lens.

Standing up, he locked and shut the door, then started across the street to his own car. As he pulled away from the curb, he realized there was now a new urgency in that day's mission. He headed across the city as fast as traffic would allow, then onto the highway and north.

# # # # #

Mike opened the screen door and knocked on the bright red front door of the modest, well-kept bungalow in the Del Paso Heights neighbourhood of Sacramento. Though it was his day off, he had worn a suit and his fedora; he knew he would need to put on an impressive display if he was going to get as far as he hoped.

As the door opened, he shifted into full Mike Stone mode.

"Yes?" said the pleasant-looking middle-aged woman who smiled at him warmly.

His badge and I.D. already in hand, Mike flipped the leather case open. "Mrs. Atkinson?" She nodded, frowning, worry creeping into her eyes as she stared at his picture and the gold star. "I'm Lieutenant Stone from the San Francisco Police Department," he began pleasantly, trying to allay her fear, "and I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes. Would that be all right?"

"Um, San Francisco Police?" she stammered. "Oh, um, sure, I guess," she continued as she took a step back to let him enter. "Why would the San Francisco Police want to talk to me? I've never been to San Francisco."

Pocketing his badge, glancing around the entrance quickly but thoroughly, Mike took off the fedora and turned his attention back to suddenly flustered woman, continuing to smile. "Well, Mrs. Atkinson, it's not about you, actually. It's about your daughter Donna."

"Donna? What do you need to talk to her for? She's never been in trouble. Oh, she's not in trouble, is she?" Mrs. Atkinson asked in a rush, one hand over her heart.

"No, ma'am, not at all," Mike assured her quickly. "It's not about something she did, it's about something she may have seen."

"Something she may have seen? What do you mean?"

"Oh, ah, do you mind?" Mike began, pointing towards the living room. "It was a long drive."

"Oh, of course," she said, stepping aside to let him precede her into the living room. "Please, have a seat."

He settled onto the couch, holding his hat in both hands atop his knees.

"Would you like a glass of lemonade? I just made some fresh."

"I'd love some," he smiled, "if it's not too much trouble."

"Oh, no trouble at all," she laughed delightedly as she turned towards the kitchen. "Now what is it you were saying about something Donna may have seen?"

"Well," Mike began, taking in the room thoroughly as he spoke, "we think that the last time your daughter was in San Francisco, she may have accidentally witnessed a traffic accident that, well, that later escalated into a murder."

"A murder!" he heard her exclaim overtop of the sound of ice being dropped into glasses. "Oh my goodness, really?"

"Yes, ah, now your daughter isn't in any kind of danger, but we heard that she likes to take pictures…?" There was nothing in the living room that peaked his interest; just photos of the family, some with Joshua, most without.

"Oh my goodness, yes! I think Donna was born with a camera in her hand. Her father bought her her first one when she was just four." Mrs. Atkinson strode back into the living room with a large wooden tray in her hands.

Mike got up quickly, dropping his hat on the sofa, and crossed towards her. "Here, let me take that," he said as he took the pitcher and glass loaded tray from her hands and turned to set it on the coffee table.

"Why thank you," she gushed, obviously taken with his gallantry. He waited till she sat on an armchair before he sat again himself. She filled one of the tall glasses and handed it to him.

"So what is it you need?"

Mike took a sip of the lemonade and beamed his thanks. "Well, um, is your daughter here at the moment?"

"Oh my no, she took her son camping for the week up near Mount Shasta. Left yesterday. She's been camping since before she could walk, and she wants to make sure her son grows up with the same love of the outdoors."

"Her son?"

"Yes, Donna had a baby boy almost a year ago." She got up and crossed to the mantel, returning with a beautifully framed photo of Donna and Joshua. "That's him. Joshua James."

"What a beautiful little boy. Does he take after his father?" he asked, almost holding his breath in anticipation of the answer.

Mrs. Atkinson stared at the photo sadly. "Well, unfortunately we're not sure. Donna got… well, she had an unplanned pregnancy. She didn't really know the father so we're not sure who he looks like, really. But he is a handsome little boy, don't you agree?"

"Yes, yes, he sure is," Mike concurred, his heart dropping a little.

Mrs. Atkinson's head came up quickly. "You were saying something about photographs?"

"Yes," Mike said, the spell broken, "yes, someone told us your daughter was in San Francisco recently…"

"Yes, she was. Last week. She had to go for a job interview. Unfortunately, she didn't get it. Is that when the accident happened?"

"Yes, that's right. Last week. Do you know if she may have taken pictures when she was in San Francisco?"

"Are you kidding?" she laughed, crossing back to the mantel to put the picture away. "She never stops taking pictures."

"Would you know if she has the pictures from last week with her, or would they be here, do you think?"

"I don't know, but why don't we go see." She turned and started down a corridor that Mike assumed led to the bedrooms. He tried to keep the growing enthusiasm out of his voice.

"That would be great, thank you." He followed her into a good-sized bedroom that held a double bed and a crib. At the far side of the room was a large wooden desk topped by a huge mirror. The mirror was covered in photographs, too many for Mike to take in.

She went straight to the desk and opened the deep lower side drawer. From his position near the door, Mike could see that it was filled with camera store envelopes; they all looked filled.

Mrs. Atkinson picked a couple off the top of the pile and stared at them, looking for a date. "No, these are from last month," she said, sounding disappointed.

It took all the self-control he could muster not to cross to the desk and grab the envelopes out of her hand. But Mike just nodded, waiting patiently as she checked out a few more. Trying not to be too obvious about it, he studied the photos on the mirror; they all seemed to be of family and friends.

"Nope, sorry," she said finally, dropping the envelopes back in and closing the drawer. "She must have them in the car with her."

"Gee, that's too bad," Mike said with more genuine disappointment than he had intended. "When did you say she's coming home again?"

"Oh, not till next weekend, I'm afraid."

Mike sighed then smiled at the unsuspecting woman. He really hated lying to her but he didn't have a choice. "Well, thank you so much. I'm sorry to have put you out."

"Oh, no trouble at all. I wish we could have helped you. How about if I have my daughter call you when she gets back?"

"No, that's okay, Mrs. Atkinson. Hopefully we'll have caught the murderer by then. And if we need to get in touch with her again, I'll give you a call. No need to worry her thinking she may have seen something that escalated into a murder now, is there?"

"No, I guess not. I guess you're right." She exited through the bedroom door.

As he began to follow her, he took one more look around the room. And that was when he saw it. Near the centre of the collage of photos taped to the mirror was a close-up of his partner.


	7. Chapter 7

The Homicide office was bustling when Mike made his way in late Sunday morning. With three open cases on the go, the luxury of a weekend off was no longer one of the benefits of a promotion to the detective ranks. And though The City would not be at all happy with the overtime salaries they would have to shell out, everyone knew that solving a homicide investigation was more important than money.

Fresh from his success in wrapping up the gas station murder, Steve was working with Sergeants Healey and Haseejian on a double homicide near the Presidio that looked like a street robbery gone bad but had turned out to be a result of jealousy and greed.

Satisfied that all the cases were being handled to the best of everyone's ability, Mike allowed himself to indulge in one of the perks of being the boss: delegation. His services were not needed on the front lines for the moment, which left him time to concentrate on a, to him, more important matter.

Since his return from Sacramento, a new theory had been bubbling in his brain. And after a few specific and discreet phone calls which, even late on a Saturday evening and after much belly-aching on the other end of the line, he believed he had laid the groundwork for what he hoped would be the final chapter in this increasingly depressing and debilitating chapter in his partner's young life.

Steve had finished a phone call, made a notation on the pad on his desk, got up and crossed into Mike's office with the pad in hand. Like the rest of the detectives on duty that day, he was keeping the boss up to date on the open cases.

He slumped into the guest chair; the entire squad had noticed that the usually happy and quick-witted inspector was more guarded and solemn lately, and though gossip and speculation ran rampant in the tight-knit group of plainclothes cops, no one, outside of Mike, knew what was actually going on.

Finished bringing his boss up to date, Steve got up to leave.

"Wait, wait, wait," Mike said pleasantly, gesturing at the now vacated seat when Steve looked back at him. "I want to know what happened at the restaurant yesterday after I left."

Frowning, Steve sat back down again. "What do you mean? Nothing happened."

"Really?" Mike raised skeptical eyebrows. "You mean the two of you…well, the two of you who could carry on a intelligible conversation, just sat there staring at each other without speaking?"

With a frustrated sigh and almost angry glare, Steve dropped heavily back onto the chair. "We, ah, we talked about… well, about Joshua mostly. She told me all about his birth… you know, seven hours in labour, that kind of thing…"

Mike nodded knowingly, trying to keep a bemused smirk from erupting.

Taking a deep breath, Steve plowed on. "And all the things the kid likes to eat, and the toys he likes to play with, and –"

"You couldn't take your eyes off him, could you?" Mike interrupted.

"What?"

"I was watching you. You couldn't take your eyes off him. You think he _is_ your son, don't you?"

Steve leaned back and stared expressionlessly at the older man. "He looks just like me."

"Yes, he does," Mike nodded solemnly, "but that still doesn't make him your son, does it?"

They held each other's stare for several long seconds then the younger man blinked and looked down, exhaling loudly.

"Go back to work," Mike said gently.

Without looking up, Steve got to his feet and crossed slowly back to his desk. Mike watched him go. He was dying to tell him what he had discovered in the past twenty-four hours, but he also knew it was in neither of their best interests to do so at the moment.

# # # # #

Steve was on the phone an hour later when Mike emerged from his office to sit on the edge of his desk, waiting patiently for the younger man to hang up. Steve looked up expectantly as he dropped the receiver onto the cradle.

"Hey, did I overhear you talking to Ellie just now?"

"What are you, a bat?" Steve asked in awe; he had been talking to his girlfriend in lowered tones and the background cacophony of the room was definitely intrusive.

"Bats can't hear, they use radar, remember?" Mike said quickly with a self-satisfied smirk. "So, she has today off, hunh?" His enthusiasm was downright frightening.

Steve blinked pointedly, trying not to smile. "Bats _can_ hear, extremely well actually. They can't _see_ very well."

Mike's face fell then he grinned. "Oh, well, I knew it was one of the two. So anyway, she has today off?" he persisted, recovering quickly.

Eyeing his partner skeptically, Steve nodded. "Yes, she does. And why is that of interest to you, dare I ask?"

"Well, I was thinking," he started slowly with a knowing smile, "why don't I take both of you out to a really nice restaurant… your choice… and I'll even pick up the tab…" He paused, watching as Steve's jaw dropped slowly open. "Then sometime early in the evening I will withdraw from the scene and leave you and your lovely lady free to spend the rest of the night on the town… without my company." His grin was full-blown now. "What d'ya say, buddy boy? Sound like a plan?"

Steve, who had been watching him with a worried and furrowed brow, started to laugh and his face lit up; to Mike, it seemed for the first time in days. "Yeah," Steve nodded, "yeah, I'd like that, a lot. And I think Ellie would to."

"Good," said Mike enthusiastically as he got to his feet. "You give her a call and ask her, and if she's up for it, you two figure out where you want to go." He glanced at his watch. "What say we both blow this popsicle stand around four, give us some time to go home and make ourselves presentable? That sound good to you?"

Mike's grin was infectious and Steve could only shake his head in wonder. "That sounds perfect," he said, slapping the older man on the shoulder affectionately as Mike turned to jog happily back to his office.

# # # # #

Dinner at L'Etoile turned out to be everything they hoped it would be. The food, the service, the ambiance, and the company had all combined to make the night out a wonderfully relaxing respite for them all.

It was shortly after eight when Mike bade them his goodbyes and headed out to his car. Steve and Ellie had decided to go dancing; they were determined to make the most of her one night off.

As he strode across the street to car, he glanced up and down the block, looking for the Pinto. He was pretty sure now what Donna Atkinson was up to; now he just had to prove it. Relieved not to see the little sedan, he got into his car and drove away, towards downtown. His own day was not over yet either.

# # # # #

Mike snapped on the fluorescents and crossed the empty bullpen to his office, turning on the lights in there as well. As suspected, a large manila envelope was sitting in the centre of his desk, a folded piece of notepaper taped to the top. Crossing around the desk, he pulled the note free, sliding his glasses from his inside pocket with the other hand and slipping them on.

' _This is the list you wanted. I had to pull a lot of strings to get it on such short notice AND on a weekend. You owe me big-time! I'll be expecting two bottles of Glenlivet to show up shortly._

 _I hope this is what you're looking for. Good luck._

 _B'_

Chuckling, Mike tossed the note on the desk and sat. He opened the top drawer, took out a letter opener, picked up the manila envelope and sliced open the top flap. He put the letter opener away before removing several sheets of paper from the envelope. He flipped through them quickly, a smile starting to build.

Nodding to himself, he opened the drawer once again, took out a large legal pad and a pen, closed the drawer and set to work.

It was going to be a long but, he hoped, very productive night.

# # # # #

"Well, this is certainly the perfect way to end a perfect evening," Ellie sighed as she leaned back in the wooden chair and once again admired the view. "You know, in all the years I've lived in this city, this is my first time up here."

Steve chuckled as his picked up his martini glass and took a sip. "True confession time? It's my first time too."

"Really?" she asked with a laugh, her eyes wide. "Who'd thought, hunh? The natives are always the last."

"Well, I'm not exactly a native, remember?" Steve corrected her, leaning forward to put his glass back on the table.

"Look, anyone who's been here as long as you have, and is on the police force for god's sake, is a native in my books." She stared at him affectionately, reaching across the table to hold his hand. "I am so glad we could do this tonight. Lord knows I needed it."

Steve smiled warmly. "Well, it was all Mike's idea so you gotta thank him."

"Oh, I will, believe me," she laughed with the sexy throatiness he found so irresistible, "but you're gonna have to tell me how. I mean, I can't really… you know… thank him in quite the same way I can thank you… if you catch my drift…" she said slowly, looking at him coyly from under a downturned brow.

He laughed. "Yeah… right…" He cleared his throat self-consciously, knowing their night was far from over. "Well, ah, Mike is really into sports so –"

"I've got it!" she roared, then glanced around guiltily, lowering her voice and her head. "I've got it," she whispered and he chuckled, leaning forward so they were almost nose-to-nose. "How 'bout I get him some tickets to a Giants homestand? Behind the plate? Would he like that?"

"He'd love it. But those tickets are expensive, you know. And you're not making that big lawyer salary yet, remember? You're a prosecutor on The City's payroll."

She leaned back and waved at him dismissively. "Don't worry about it," she said conspiratorially, "a guy I used to go out with… years ago," she continued quickly on his sudden frown, "he's the marketing guy for the Giants. I'll talk to him," she explained suggestively, bobbing her eyebrows and smiling enigmatically.

Steve stared at her. "That's _all_ you'd better do… talk," he growled softly and she threw her head back and laughed.

Grinning and laughing, he leaned over the table, grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him, putting his other hand on the back of her head as he planted a long and sensuous kiss on her welcoming lips.

Neither one noticed the bemused smiles from the other well-heeled patrons at their tables in The Top of The Mark that night.


	8. Chapter 8

Mike stifled a yawn as he glanced down at the notepad beside him on front seat of the blue sedan. He hadn't gotten much sleep. Wanting to get an early start and avoid the morning rush, even though he would be heading in the opposite direction, he had left the house before dawn.

The past two days had proved to be very successful, and the promise of more revelations to come had made it harder and harder for him to keep what he was learning to himself.

Steve had been in a better mood yesterday, everyone had noticed. The night out with Ellie had bolstered his sagging spirits significantly and the spring in his step had almost returned. He threw himself into the double homicide investigation with a renewed vigor. Mike was proud of him.

He had spent the day in meetings with his various teams of detectives, getting caught up again with their cases, making sure everything was being handled efficiently and professionally. Though his attention was indeed divided, he wanted to make sure that nothing was being compromised. Satisfied that it wasn't, he once more turned his attention to the task at hand.

The information contained in the manila envelope had been just what he was looking for, but he had still needed to make a couple of calls before he could set out on another road trip. Luckily the information he was requesting proved a lot easier to attain and by the end of the working day, he was ready to take the next step.

He informed Captain Olsen that he would be taking the following day off, then left a note for Steve with the same information taped to his phone. The younger man was out in the field with Healey and Haseejian, pounding the pavement in their quest to solve the double homicide case they were working on.

And now, as the sun was beginning to shade the sky to his right, the blue sedan was heading up Highway 101 towards Eureka. Keeping his eyes on the road, he put the thermos between his knees, twisted off the cap, placing it on the seat beside him, and took a large swig of the strong black coffee. It was going to be a long but hopefully productive day.

# # # # #

It was almost six hours later when the blue sedan pulled into the gravel driveway in front of a small, rundown house just outside the town limits of Willow Creek. Mike glanced down at the pad beside him: _625_ he had written. Only a black wooden '6' and '5' were nailed to the side of the house near the front door, with a substantial gap between them; he assumed he was at the right address.

He got out of the car, picking up the fedora as he did so and putting it on. He slammed the door loudly, hoping to alert anyone within earshot of his presence. The ill-kept house looked deserted and he hoped his long trip hadn't been for nothing.

Noting the old red pickup truck parked at the side of the house, he stepped over empty beer bottles, pizza boxes and various other items he couldn't identify as he walked up the broken tiled walkway to the front entrance. Pulling open the cheap aluminum door with the broken screen, he knocked on the wooden door that had, once upon a time, been painted a pleasant forest green.

Getting no response, he waited several seconds before trying again, pounding with his fist this time. A thudding sound could be heard from inside, then what seemed like heavy footsteps getting louder. Suddenly the knob was turned and the door shot open to reveal a rather large older lady in a faded-print muumuu, who glared at him with moist, rheumy eyes and a sneer. Before he could open his mouth, she snarled, "Yeah, what do you want?"

Taken aback but recovering quickly, Mike held up his badge. "Lieutenant Stone, San Francisco Police Department. Are you Mrs. Sawyer?"

She blinked heavily as she stared at his badge and then up into his face. "What did he do now?"

"I beg your pardon?" Mike asked pleasantly as he pocketed his badge.

"That little shit son of mine. That's why you're here, right? He musta done somethin'."

"Do you mean Kyle?" Mike held his breath; this could be a lot easier than he'd imagined if the mother was already on his side.

"Of course I mean Kyle, he's the only son I got."

"Of course," Mike corrected himself, not wanting to antagonize the obviously angry woman any further. "Is he at home right now?"

"Where else would he be? The lazy degenerate can't find a job… or so he says." She took a step back and turned her head slightly. "Kyle!" she roared, and Mike took an involuntary step backwards. "Kyle, you get your ass out here right now!"

From behind her Mike could hear rustling noises, then the sound of bare feet hitting the wooden floor. As the footsteps got closer, Mike held his breath. Suddenly a young man came near enough to be seen in the light spilling into the dark house from the open front door. And Mike Stone's heart almost stopped beating in his chest.

Kyle Sawyer looked so much like his partner that they could have been brothers.

# # # # #

The tousled-hair young man wrapped both hands around the large mug of coffee and brought it to his lips, taking a big sip. He put the cup back down before looking up at the older man sitting opposite him in the booth. "Thanks, man, I really needed that."

Knowing that he had to put some space between Sawyer and his overbearing mother to allow him to open up, Mike had suggested they go to a restaurant in the small town so they could talk in private. Willow Creek had only two eating establishments and the other was closed.

Having ordered them both the Chili Dog and French Fry Platter, the house specialty he was told, Mike leaned across the table. "Like I told you in the car, Kyle," he began genially, trying to put the nervous young man at ease, "you're not in any trouble. I just need you to help me with some information."

He leaned back, still slightly unsettled yet heartened by the amazing resemblance, and took a photograph from his inside jacket pocket. It was a shot of Donna, taken at the diner when she had brought Joshua to meet he and Steve. Mike had arranged for a female officer in plainclothes, posing as a tourist, to get a couple of shots for him. No one, not even Steve, had noticed the woman in a nearby booth who was presumably taking photos of her dining companions.

Placing the snapshot down, he slid it across the table. "Do you recognize this young woman?" he asked casually, staring intently at Sawyer's face as the green eyes fell onto the picture.

There was no mistaking his reaction. A warm smile instantly transformed his anxious features and he blurted out, "Of course I know her, that's Donna!" He looked up at Mike, the delight in his eyes suddenly turning to worry once again. "Is she all right? Is she in some kinda trouble?"

"No no no," Mike reassured him, shaking his head. "She's all right. She's in San Francisco right now, with her son, and I was –"

"Her son?"

It was Mike's turn to frown. "Yes, her little boy Joshua."

Sawyer swallowed noticeably and blinked slowly several times, staring into the middle distance, as if he was having trouble processing this new information.

Waiting for several beats, Mike ventured gently, "He's the reason I wanted to talk to you, Kyle."

The younger man looked up again and his eyes narrowed warily. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, ah," Mike paused with a short, almost embarrassed laugh, "I don't quite know how to put this…" Suddenly he seemed to focus and he stared into the young man's hooded eyes with a glaring intensity. "How do you know Donna, Kyle?"

"What – what do you mean?"

"When did you meet?"

"Oh!" the young man almost gasped, suddenly getting the gist of what Mike was asking, "oh, uh, we met about, oh, I guess it was a couple a years ago. At a bar over in Red Bluff."

"Do you remember when exactly?"

Sawyer's brow furrowed and his eyes unfocussed. He shook his head. "No, sir, I'm sorry… I think it was in the fall though, I remember is was gettin' colder out."

Mike nodded slightly, almost to himself; the time frame was right.

A waitress approached their table with a large tray, setting it on a nearby booth so she could place the two platters and two drinks – one ginger ale, one Dr. Pepper – in front of them. The chili dogs looked delicious.

As Sawyer picked up his hotdog and took a big bite, Mike unwrapped his cutlery, glancing casually across the table and continuing their seemingly off-the-cuff conversation. "And so, what, you saw Donna there with her girlfriends or something?" he prompted as he laid out the knife and fork and put the napkin on his lap.

"Unh-unh ." Kyle's eyes lit up again and he chewed furiously, shaking his head. Swallowing, he grinned almost proudly, putting the chili dog down and raising both hands as if framing a picture. "No, sir. I was sittin' at the bar havin' a beer and she jus' walked right up to me and introduced herself, bold as brass. Said she liked how I looked and wanted to know if I wanted to dance with her."

Smiling warmly, Mike chuckled. "And what did you say?"

"Well now, that Donna's a fine-lookin' girl – not the prettiest girl I ever seen but there was something about her…you know what I mean…?" He grinned at Mike with raised eyebrows and the older man found himself beginning to like the engaging young man.

"Yes, I do," Mike chuckled with a nod, "I felt the same way about my wife. So, the two of you… danced?"

"Yes, sir, we sure did." Relaxing, Sawyer leaned conspiratorially across the table and, eyes wide, whispered sotto voce, "and we did a little more than just dance, if you catch my drift."

Mike smiled, both at the guilelessness and the information. "Yes, Kyle, I know exactly what you mean."

Sawyer sat back, shaking his head and smiling at the memory. "She sure was a firecracker, lemme tell you. She wore me out."

"I'll bet," Mike murmured, his smile lingering, masking a mind that was processing everything he was hearing, knowing he was coming tantalizingly close to the end of his quest. He cleared his throat, laying both hands on the table, as if unsure how to broach the next question. "Uhm, so, ah, do you remember if you, ah, if you used protection?"

"A rubber?" Sawyer asked, his eyebrows shooting up in alarm. "Uh, no, sir, I didn't. I always carry, uh,… protection with me, but she was on me so fast, I didn't have time to put it on!"

Mike nodded slowly, the ghost of a smile playing across his lips as his stare unfocussed.

"Uh, does this have somethin' to do with that son that you said Donna has...? Could that boy be my son…? Is that what you're trying to tell me here…?" There was sudden panic in the younger man's voice.

Mike raised sympathetic eyes and nodded slightly. "He just might be, Kyle. But I have to ask you one more question. By any chance, do you know what your blood type is?"

Sawyer frowned. "My blood type…?" Mike nodded again. "Well, yeah, I sure do. I've given blood a couple a times down in Sacramento, you know, to make some money. It's A positive."

Mike sat back in the booth, unable to keep the grateful smile he had been holding inside at bay any longer. "Son, let's finish our lunch before it gets cold, shall we?"

With a happy but somewhat bewildered smile, not really sure what had just transpired between himself and the big city cop, Kyle Sawyer picked up his chili dog and took another huge bite.


	9. Chapter 9

It was close to 9 pm when Mike pulled the sedan into an open curbside spot across the street from his house. He dragged himself wearily from the car and plodded up the steep concrete steps to his front door.

It had been a very successful day, he thought. He was now in the home stretch of the attempt to bring his partner's life back to normal, and to restore the close and convivial partnership that he cherished.

His day was still not over though, he mused, as he got to the stoop and found the house key on the ring in his hand. He wanted to get this whole sordid affair over and done with as soon as possible, and if that meant he would have to make another trip up north the next day, so be it.

After slipping off his shoes and tossing his hat and jacket on the sofa, he crossed into the kitchen, grabbed a cold can of beer from the fridge and returned to the living room, placing the can on the coffee table then picking up the phone from the end table and putting it on his knee. After dialing, balancing the phone on his thigh and the receiver on his shoulder, he reached for the beer and snapped the tab.

After a couple of rings, a deep male voice answered gruffly, "Hello."

Swallowing a quick sip, Mike almost choked on the cold beer. "Rudy," he managed to get out, coughing slightly, "glad I caught you. Look, I need a big favor, and I kinda need it tonight."

"Mike, is that you?" came the confused reply. "I thought you took today off?"

"I did. And now I need tomorrow off and a favor from you? What do you say?"

"Tonight? Are you kidding me? What could you possibly need at this hour? And, if I may ask, why?"

Mike chuckled. "Well, the why I can't give you just yet, you're just going to have to take my word for it that it's important. But what I need is a policewoman. But not just anyone. Let me explain."

Ten minutes later he hung up, satisfied that his superior officer would be able to meet his needs, and then made two more calls.

# # # # #

It was just after eight the next morning when Mike swung his sedan into the parking lot at the Starlight Motel in Daly City, nodding to the officer behind the wheel of a local black-and-white sitting near the front entrance. He spotted the dark blue Pinto in the space outside room number 8 and pulled into the empty space beside it.

An SFPD grey Ford Galaxie, which had been trailing him, slid into the spot on the other side of the Pinto. Officer Janice Patterson exited the passenger seat of the unmarked car and joined Mike on the walkway in front of the motel door. He knocked.

When Donna Atkinson opened the door, her eyes widened slightly when she recognized the older man standing before her. She glanced at the uniformed officer behind him but if she was surprised, it didn't register on her face.

Mike smiled pleasantly. "Good morning, Donna. I hate to disturb you so early but I was hoping you could come with me for a little while. I need to ask you some questions?"

"Some questions?" she asked with a coquettish innocence that had no effect on the seasoned detective.

He nodded, still smiling. "Yes, about you and your son."

"Oh, uh, questions about Josh? What kinda questions?"

The smile disappeared from Mike's eyes though remained on his lips. "Oh, I think you know what I mean," he said smoothly with an unctuous tone that sent a shiver down her spine.

Donna took a hesitant step backward, as if suddenly unsure of herself. She gestured vaguely behind her. "I'll, ah, I'll just get –"

"No, that's okay," Mike said quickly, taking a step forward and putting a firm hand on her elbow. "Officer Patterson here is more than qualified to look after Joshua. She's going to take him back to my house while we talk. He'll be fine there, and you can get him when we're finished." He increased the pressure of his hand on her arm. "Is that okay with you?"

She looked up at him, biting her lip, realizing that for maybe the first time in a long time, she was no longer in control of her situation. Swallowing hard, she nodded.

Mike smiled coldly then nodded. "Good. Let's go." He began to lead her out the motel room door. She pulled briefly from his grasp, stopping to pick up her leather bag from beside the door as Officer Patterson entered the room and crossed to Joshua, who was sitting on the floor near the bathroom playing with a stuffed bear.

Mike caught the policewoman's eye and pointed at the motel room key lying on the bedtable. Patterson nodded.

"But… Josh…?" Donna said over her shoulder as she watched the policewoman pick up her son, smiling at the laughing little boy.

"Don't worry," Mike said, leading her towards his car, "he'll be in good hands. Officer Patterson has a lot of experience with children." He opened the passenger side door and she got in, staring through the windshield as Patterson carried Joshua to the grey Galaxie and placed him carefully on the front seat beside her colleague then went back into the motel room to collect the boy's things.

As Mike backed the blue sedan out of the parking space, Donna watched Officer Patterson leave the motel room with a bag of toys and diapers, closing and locking the door behind her.

# # # # #

Clutching her leather bag in her lap, Donna looked nervously at the man beside her as he wove the car through the heavy morning traffic. Neither had said a word since they had left the motel parking lot.

Though she didn't know San Francisco all that well, very quickly she became aware that they were not, as she had surmised, on their way to the Hall of Justice but instead heading north through The City towards the Golden Gate Bridge. Nervously, she glanced over at him but he continued to say nothing, concentrating, it seemed, on his driving.

Traffic on the span was light and they were soon in Marin County and heading up the 101. Mike glanced over at his companion; she was staring out the side window and he could see her worried reflection in the glass. He smiled slightly; he wanted her emotionally off-balance so he would have the upper hand.

Traffic died out completely and they were making good time. The highway was still under construction and repair in parts and detours were abundant. About an hour north of the bridge, they had to turn off near the town of Strawberry, and make their way along a two-lane blacktop through lush Northern California forest. It would have been a very pleasant drive were it not for the increasing tension inside the blue sedan.

"Where are you taking me?" Donna finally asked, and Mike smiled to himself. He had wanted her to be the first to talk.

He turned to her, bringing the smile to the surface. "We're going to visit a friend of yours."

He could see her brows knit in sudden panic; she knew they weren't headed to Sacramento. She swallowed heavily. "Who?" She almost breathed the word, trying to keep the fear from her voice.

Mike chuckled almost gently, trying not to escalate her anxiety, at least not until they got closer to their destination. But he knew she was rapidly putting two and two together.

He glanced down at the gas gauge, reassuring himself he had a full tank. He didn't want her bolting if he had to stop to gas up. Now if only they didn't encounter any stops along the highway; he wasn't sure he would be able to catch her if she ran.

Then again, he thought with another internal smile, that would still put her out of Steve's life for good, and they would nail her when she came back for her son, if indeed she wanted to keep him. So whichever way this ended up, he thought, his was the winning hand. He could barely contain a sigh of relief that this vile episode was soon going to be over.

Donna was staring out the side window again. He hadn't noticed that she had been studying him for several long seconds, her gaze traveling from his head down to the bulge under the unbuttoned suit jacket whose front panel lay flat against the seat.

They were rounding a bend on the deserted forest road when she suddenly spun in the seat, the leather bag in her right hand, and swung it over the steering wheel, slamming it viciously into his face. The impact was so violent and unexpected that his head snapped back, the car careening into the left lane. The metal buckle of the bag caught him just above the right eyebrow; blood started flowing into his eye, blurring his vision.

Stunned and in pain, Mike managed to get the car under control but almost immediately she was beside him; he could feel his jacket flap being lifted.

And he knew instinctively she was going for his gun.

Fighting the steering wheel, he frantically tried to push her away with his right arm but she had already managed to unsnap the holster and was pulling the .38 free. He grabbed the front of her dress and tried to jerk her forward to pull her off balance as she knelt on the seat with the gun in both hands and pointed it at him.

She pulled the trigger but nothing happened; the safety was on. In the second of her stunned confusion, he tried to throw her across the seat, to dislodge her grip on the .38, hoping she would drop it.

Donna knew about guns; her Daddy had taught her how to shoot when she was a little girl. She knew exactly where the safety was on a .38, and as she snapped it off, Mike heard the familiar sound. Desperate now, knowing that if he took the time to stop the car he didn't have a chance, he knew his only choice was to keep driving. He jammed on the brakes and swung the sedan in a tight circle; the centrifugal force of the sudden movement threw Donna hard against the dashboard and she gasped.

Mike accelerated again as she tried to sit up and he reached for the gun, which was tantalizingly close. But she had more than enough time to pull the trigger.

The bullet tore through the fabric of his jacket, vest and shirt, tearing a deep furrow into his flesh, grazing his ribs and burrowing itself into the upholstery of the seat back.

With a cry of pain, his body involuntarily convulsed to the right, his left hand taking the steering wheel with it; his foot came off the gas and the car slowed down, straddling both lanes.

Momentarily stunned that she had managed to gain the upper hand in the battle, she pulled herself back onto the seat from under the dashboard and pointed the gun at him again.

Fighting the pain in his side, he reached awkwardly for the .38 with his right hand but she pulled it away. The frantic, desperate grappling continued; Mike knew he was now fighting for his life. He had just put his hand on hers, pushing the barrel down, when she fired again and his right knee exploded in agony.

Spasming, his right leg slammed down on the accelerator and the car shot across the blacktop, over the gravel shoulder and plunging down the steep embankment, snapping branches and flattening bushes in its path as it bounced and flew, the undercarriage slamming into the hard ground repeatedly till it came to an abrupt, metal-shrieking stop against a large oak tree.

An eerie silence settled over the scene, the only sound the hiss of boiling water escaping from the shattered radiator.


	10. Chapter 10

Slowly she became aware of her surroundings. She felt pressure all over, like she had been wrapped tightly in a heavy blanket. As her eyes slowly focused, she could see the front seat of a car, but it was very close and she was looking at it from a very low angle.

She realized she was lying on the floor of a car, under the dashboard. She could hear the slow drip, drip, drip of liquid hitting metal, and the chirping of birds nearby.

Almost afraid to move, afraid of the pain, she lifted first one arm, then the other, surprised that, although she was stiff and sore, nothing seemed broken. She began to push herself up off the floor and onto the seat. It was a tight squeeze; the dashboard seemed a lot closer to the front seat than normal.

Dragging herself up, she looked to her right and froze. Mike was still in the driver's seat, the steering wheel now pressed against his chest, his right hand lying limply in a small pool of blood on the seat behind him. Blood soaked his right pant leg around his knee.

The fedora still on, his head lay against the side window, bright red rivulets of blood coursing down the cracked glass. His eyes were closed, blood on his face from the gash over his eyebrow; his mouth was slightly open. She couldn't tell if he was breathing.

She turned to the passenger side door and raised the handle. She heard a click and it opened. She shoved the heavy door away from her and a metallic groan rent the air as she managed to push it open wide enough to crawl out.

She looked at the car: the grill was folded around the large tree trunk, the windshield shattered, and the hood bent upward; the tires that she could see were flat. The front seat _was_ much closer to the dash than it should have been. And she could smell gas, leaking, she assumed, from the ruptured tank.

Remarkably, she was largely unhurt, though she knew bruises would be making their presence felt sooner than later. She had not escaped completely unscathed but she had survived.

She glanced around nervously, knowing she needed to get out of there and fast. She leaned back into the car, kneeling on the seat and feeling under the dash. She found her bag but her grasping fingers couldn't find the gun that had flown from her hand when the car plummeted down the embankment.

With an angry and disappointed growl, she backed out of the car and slammed the door. She looked up the steep hill. Taking a deep breath, slinging her bag over her head, she started to climb, grabbing at branches and shrubs to pull herself up, trying not to slip on the dirt and grass.

Several minutes later she had managed to crawl close to the top of the embankment. She was just about to haul herself up onto the shoulder when she heard the sound of an oncoming vehicle. She ducked back down, waiting for the car to pass before she scrambled over the top.

Panting, she got slowly to her feet, then leaned forward and brushed the dirt and leaves from her knees and lower legs, smoothing her dress into place as best she could. Reaching into her bag, she extracted a small packet of tissues, pulling one out, wetting it with her spit and trying to wipe her face, hopefully removing the dirt and sweat she knew was there. When the third one remained white after use, she was satisfied, tossing the used tissue into the ditch and pulling a hairbrush out of her bag.

Finally satisfied she looked almost normal, she turned to face the road, then in a mild panic looked back and forth, first one direction and then the other down the tree-lined strip of asphalt. She was suddenly unsure which way they had been heading before the altercation; she had no idea which way led back to San Francisco.

With a frustrated groan, she started across the road then looked down at the pavement, hoping to see skid marks. There were none. Trying to recall the details of the struggle in the car, she couldn't remember at any time the car going into a skid hard enough to leave rubber on the road, except when Mike made the tight circle, trying to throw her off-balance. But she still couldn't remember which direction they were travelling when he did that.

"Damn it!" she muttered to herself, shaking her head in anger then making up her mind. She continued across the road and had only walked about three hundred yards along the shoulder when the sound of a car approaching from the behind caught her attention.

Pasting a coyly innocent smile on her face, she turned to face the oncoming car and stuck her thumb out. A white Olds Cutlass came into view around the bend, slowing down slightly when it got closer. As it passed, she could see a middle-aged man behind the wheel and a woman of a similar age in the passenger seat.

She watched as the brake lights came on and the car pulled onto the gravel shoulder and stopped. She ran up to the driver's side door.

"Where are you going, honey?" the pleasantly smiling man asked her.

"San Francisco…" she said hesitantly, still not sure if she was heading in the right direction.

The man glanced at his wife then turned back and nodded. "Hop in the back, sweetheart. We can take you as far as Sausalito. Is that okay?"

With a relieved laugh, Donna opened the back door of the Cutlass and got in.

# # # # #

Following his colleagues, Steve walked into the Homicide office and crossed to his desk. With a loud sigh, he took his notebook out of the pocket of his camel hair jacket and tossed it near the phone, then slid the coat off and draped it carefully over the back of the chair. He sat heavily, pulled the notebook closer and flipped it open. As he reread the top page, he rolled his sleeves up.

He glanced up at the inner office, surprised to find no evidence of his partner's presence. With a frown, he got up and was just about to cross the short distance to Mike's desk when Lee Lessing called to him from across the room. The young inspector had his hand over the mouthpiece of his phone.

"Steve, if you're looking for Mike, he called in early this morning to say he wasn't coming in today. He said he'd tell you about it tomorrow."

Without further explanation, he went back to his phone call. Shrugging, Steve returned to his desk and sat.

# # # # #

It was just past one o'clock when the cab stopped at the curb outside the office of the Starlight Motel and Donna Atkinson exited the back door. As the cab pulled away, she crossed the parking lot towards the blue Pinto, fishing in her leather bag for the keys.

Within seconds, she had backed out of the space and left the lot, turning right, towards San Francisco.

# # # # #

Pain – it was everywhere. He could hear his own breaths, coming in sharp little gasps, as he tried not to compound the agony that seemed to rack his entire body every time he inhaled. He opened his eyes a slit; the right was blurry and no amount of blinking, it seemed, would clear it.

He tried to lift his head but everything started to spin. He closed his eyes and rested his temple against the cold glass again, fighting the sudden nausea. He couldn't feel his left arm. When he raised his right hand, he felt a cold wetness against his side; he knew it was blood.

His right leg was numb, and there was a pressure against his chest that could only be the steering wheel. He couldn't move.

A soft whimper of pain and fear escaped his lips. He knew he was alone, and he knew he was in trouble.

And he wished he had told someone where he was going.

# # # # #

There was a short sharp knock on the front door of the De Haro Street house. Officer Janice Patterson looked up from the magazine she was reading and glanced at her watch. It was just after two. She frowned as she got to her feet, tossing the magazine onto the coffee table, and headed towards the door. The lieutenant was not due back for several hours at least, she thought.

Donna Atkinson was standing on the stoop. "Hi," she smiled warmly when Patterson opened the door. "I'm here to pick up my son like Mike said I could." Without waiting for an invitation, she pushed past the frowning policewoman and entered the house, looking around for Joshua.

Closing the door, Patterson turned towards her. "I didn't think you and the lieutenant would be back for several hours. At least, that's what he told me this morning."

"Well, we got finished a lot sooner than he expected." Donna was looking around the room. "Where's Joshua?" she asked, her voice sounding just a little strained, the officer thought.

"He's upstairs in the master bedroom having a nap." Patterson gestured with her head towards the second floor and Donna smiled. "Where's Lieutenant Stone?"

"Oh," Donna said, starting for the stairs, "he dropped me off here; said he had a couple of things to do and then he was going into the office. He told me to tell you that after I took Joshua, for you to just lock up the house and go on about your business." She stopped halfway up the stairs and her smile grew even broader. "So I guess you have the rest of the day off!" She continued up the stairs.

Shrugging to herself, Patterson walked to the foot of the stairs, watching as Donna disappeared into the master bedroom. "Did he tell you what I should do with his key?" she called up the stairs.

Several seconds later, Donna appeared on the upper landing with her son in her arms. "He said to tell you to just keep it until he could arrange to meet with you again." With another beaming smile, she started down the stairs.

Ten minutes later, Patterson stood on the sidewalk and watched as Donna, her son and his bag of toys and diapers disappeared around the corner in the small Pinto. With a happy snort, her potentially long day now reduced to half of what she'd been expecting, she started up the stairs again. In the time it took her to tidy up and lock the front door, she had decided how she would begin to enjoy the remainder of her now free day.

# # # # #

The large tan sedan turned off Montgomery onto Union and slid into a vacant space at the curb. Wearily, Steve Keller got out, pocketing the keys, and had started to cross around the front of the LTD towards the sidewalk when he suddenly froze.

Donna, bouncing Joshua on her knee, was sitting on the bottom step. She grinned up at him as he stared at her expressionlessly from the far side of the car.

"Surprise!" she called out as she stood, hefting Joshua into her arms and stepping towards him. "We thought we'd come by and surprise you. Maybe get you to take us out to dinner." She looked at her son. "Would you like that, Joshy? Would you like to go to dinner with your Daddy?"

She looked back at Steve expectantly.


	11. Chapter 11

Stunned, pasting what he hoped was a welcoming smile on his face, Steve continued around the LTD to the sidewalk. _'Damn,'_ he thought, _'where was Mike to run interference again…?'_ When he got to Donna and her son, he reached out and grabbed the small boy's hand. "Good to see you again, Joshua." He looked at Donna. "You're looking well," he added sweetly.

"I'm doing well, thanks for asking," she replied, squinting into the evening sun starting its descent in the west. "You're getting home early tonight," she commented conversationally and both adults froze, for different reasons.

' _How the hell does she know when I usually get home?'_ Steve wondered, while _'Damn it, how am I supposed to know that?! Now he's gonna figure out I've been following him,'_ shot through Donna's mind.

Her smile grew even wider and she giggled. "I always thought that cops like you work long hours."

He smiled back with a noncommittal nod. "You're right, sometimes we do. But we got off early tonight."

"Lucky you," she laughed, turning to her son. "And lucky us, right, Joshy?"

Steve joined half-heartedly in the laugh, glancing up at his apartment. It had been a long day of futile leads and he had just wanted to spend a quiet night on his own. He needed time to start coming to grips with the solidifying reality that he might, indeed, be a father. Mike had been very tight-lipped about the information, if any, he had uncovered about the slight young woman who was at this moment standing in front of him, watching him with eager and, it seemed, adoring eyes.

" _D_ o you have time for dinner with us?" she asked quietly, as if suddenly unsure that he wanted to spend any time at all with her and her son.

Clearing his throat slightly, not wanting to seem the heavy when it came to the toddler, Steve nodded, trying to mask his reluctance. "Sure… sure, I can have dinner with you. But my place is a mess," he added quickly, glancing once more at the small apartment. "There's a restaurant near here that caters to kids Joshua's age; they'll love him there. And the food is great as well. What do you say?" For reasons he couldn't put his finger on, he didn't want her in his apartment again; at least not right now.

Donna looked at her son. "How does that sound, Joshy? Does that sound like a good plan to you? It sounds like a good plan to me," she finished with a happy giggle. She stepped closer to the door of the tan LTD and waited.

With one more glance up at his apartment, Steve crossed to the car door and opened it, waiting till Donna got in with Joshua on her lap. As he crossed around the front of the car, fishing the keys out of his pocket, he shook his head in frustration. He had wanted to make another call to Mike's house, to see if his partner was home yet. He hadn't been able to reach him all day, and he was getting worried.

# # # # #

Bella's Restaurant had proven a godsend. Owner Bella Russo loved kids, and was over the moon when one of her most valued customers walked in with a toddler in his arms. On the pretext of needing to fix the strap of her shoe, Donna had handed Joshua over to her reluctant companion after getting out of the car. Then, having made the necessary adjustment, she walked right past him and into the restaurant, leaving him to follow in her wake with the boy in his arms.

But what had started out as an attempt to make Steve take more responsibility with Joshua in public, and hopefully stoke any latent paternal instincts, backfired when Bella not only crowed over the resemblance between her favourite cop and the tiny boy but then preceded to pull a chair up to their table and spend the better part of the evening playing with the youngster, leaving Steve to enjoy his meal toddler-free.

# # # # #

The sun had fully set by the time the unmarked sedan returned to the curb outside the Union Street apartment. Steve got out and quickly rounded the car to open the passenger side door. Handing Steve her leather bag to hold, Donna slid out then reached back into the front seat to pick up the sleeping Joshua.

"Thank you again," she said warmly as he walked with her further down the block towards her own car. "I sure wish we'd had more time to talk but Bella just couldn't take her hands off him, could she?"

"No, she sure couldn't," Steve smiled, grateful that the evening had turned out to be less of an ordeal than he had anticipated.

They approached the blue Pinto. "Oh," she said suddenly, "could you get my car keys out, please?"

"Of course," he replied, pulling the leather bag open and reaching inside.

She watched him with a warm smile then froze, her eyes on the bag. She stared as he rooted around inside, his fingers searching for the keys.

"Got 'em!" he said triumphantly as his right hand reappeared and she could hear the soft jingle of metal on metal. "Here, I'll take him." Steve draped the strap of the bag over his left forearm as he reached for the still sleeping youngster.

Donna released a held breath; it had been too dark for him to see the fresh bloodstain on the leather bag. Quickly she transferred the limp body of her son into his arms and took the bag and keys. She opened the driver's side door, tossing the bag into the back seat, then reached for Joshua.

"No no no," Steve said quickly, "get in and get settled and I'll go around and put him on the seat beside you."

Slightly taken aback by his sudden concern, she nodded warily but with a warm smile. "Okay," she said, getting behind the wheel and reaching across the front seat to unlock the other door as he circled the car. She lifted the handle and pushed it open, and he caught it with his foot, opening it all the way. Leaning forward carefully, he laid Joshua on the front seat, his head against his mother's leg.

"Thank you so much again," Donna said warmly as Steve started to back out of the car. He froze, and she saw him looking at her right leg. Her dress had ridden up slightly and what looked like a large bruise was visible on her thigh. He looked up into her suddenly furrowed brow.

"Are you okay?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice.

She looked down at her leg. "Oh this? I was playing with Joshy this morning at the park near the motel and stumbled into the teeter-totter. I'm such a klutz sometimes." When he didn't reply right away, she continued, "It doesn't hurt, really. It looks worse than it feels."

"Well, take care of yourself," he said softly, backing slowly out of the car and her heart jumped into her throat; maybe she _was_ making a good impression on him.

"And you're welcome about dinner," he added. His green eyes travelled down to the small boy, and she thought she could see a fatherly regard in his stare. Looking back up at her, he smiled. "Drive safely." He stood up and shut the door as softly as he could, then stepped back to watch as she started the Pinto and pulled away from the curb.

When the car disappeared around the corner, Steve walked slowly back to his apartment, lost in thought. The evening had turned out a lot better than he had anticipated and, though he was loathe to admit it, he was beginning to warm to the lively little boy that reminded him so much of himself.

Was he starting to believe that Joshua Atkinson really was his son? He knew he had to talk to Mike, to find out exactly what his partner had uncovered in the past few days.

He slammed the apartment door behind himself as he crossed quickly to the phone on the coffee table, sitting on the couch and dialing the number he knew better than his own. Juggling the receiver under his chin, transferring it from shoulder to shoulder, he shrugged off his jacket and pulled his loosened tie free as he listened to the ringing on the other end. Eventually, realizing the other phone was not going to be answered, he hung up and looked at his watch. 9:47.

 _Where the hell was Mike?_ he thought, wracking his brain, trying to remember if his partner had told him anything about what he was uncovering, who he was talking to or where he was going. He couldn't think of a thing; Mike had been very careful not to let anything slip.

Worried, he was just reaching for the phone again when it rang under his hand. He jumped slightly and picked it up with an anxious and anticipatory, "Hello?"

"Steve?" came a familiar voice, and though his heart soared, it also sank.

"Ellie, hi!" he almost gasped, "I, ah, I thought you guys were going to go late tonight?"

"We are," she said, "I'm on a break. What's going on? You sound almost disappointed to hear from me." She laughed throatily.

"No, no, of course not, I love hearing your voice, you know that. It's just… no, it's nothing… forget it."

"No, Steve, tell me. What's going on?"

He knew she could be like a dog with a bone and, if truth be told, he wanted to open up to someone. "It's nothing, really, Elle, it's just… I haven't spoken to Mike all day and nobody's heard from him since this morning. I've been trying to reach him since noon and I called his place just now and he's still not home…"

"Didn't you work with him today?"

"No, I'm working a double with Dan and Norm and Mike's doing a little digging into something on his own. It's not a homicide investigation, it's something else."

"Something dangerous?" she asked, and he knew she would be frowning in concern.

"No, nothing like that, I'm pretty sure. Just routine background stuff, you know… but I just… I don't know…"

She knew he was more than just mildly troubled; she tried to put a smile into her voice. "I wouldn't worry about him, Steve, he's not a rookie, you know. He's probably schmoozing with somebody and finding out all kinds of things that the average Joe Flatfoot wouldn't be able to unearth, don't you think?"

"Joe Flatfoot? Is that what you think we all are?"

She could hear the lightness in his voice and she chuckled. "Well, maybe not _all_ of you."

"I should hope not." His affronted bluster was suddenly comforting.

She let the cheeriness fade then said softly, "Don't worry about him, Steve, I'm sure he's okay. Why don't you try to get a good night's sleep and call him first thing in the morning? I bet you'll wake him up, and when he growls at you for that, you can tell him _I_ told you to call."

His hearty laugh filled the air over the phone line between them and she smiled, glad she could lighten his mood. "Hey, ah, now that I have you on the line," he continued, "why don't you let me go get myself a beer and then you can tell me all about your day. How does that sound?"

"Well, mmmm," she purred over the phone, sounding very much like a cat in heat, "you sure know how to get a girl all hot and bothered, Steven Keller…you smooth talker you…rrrowrr…" Her growl was playfully sensual as she reminded him, "But don't get me too wound up, mister. I have to go back to work in a few minutes, remember?"

"Then that beer can wait," he chuckled as he settled back onto the couch.

# # # # #

His eyes opened slowly but he couldn't see anything; it was dark as pitch. The glass against his forehead was cold but it helped allay the dizziness. He thought he could hear the chirp of crickets through the shattered windshield; he'd been drifting in and out of consciousness all day.

He could feel his left arm now but it was trapped between his body and unforgiving door; he still couldn't move. The blood-soaked fabric of his shirt and pants was damp and sticky against his skin. He was starting to shiver and he wasn't sure if it was from the growing cold or the constant pain. It hurt like hell to breathe. He tried unsuccessfully to lick his dry lips; he knew he was becoming dehydrated.

In his more lucid moments, he had realized that his injuries weren't, for the moment at least, life threatening, but if he wasn't discovered soon there was a chance he could die from thirst or exposure.

He closed his eyes again, another wave of despair washing over him. He took as deep a breath as he dared and let it out in a quiet sob. "Jeannie…"


	12. Chapter 12

He rolled over on the queen-sized mattress, the sheet tangled around his body. Waking slowly, he stared up at the ceiling, blinking heavily, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim glow of the rising sun sneaking in around the bedroom curtains.

He hadn't gotten much sleep; he couldn't turn his mind off. So many things seemed to be vying for his attention at the moment, not the least of which was the mysterious silence from his partner.

He groped around on the side table and finally found his watch, bringing it close to his face and squinting at it. 6:29. Always an early riser, if Mike was home, he would most probably be up already no matter what hour he may have returned.

Steve flopped onto his belly and stretched for the phone, jerking the cord free from behind the armchair and placing it on the bed beside him. His brows knit as he began to dial; he had no idea what he would do if the call wasn't answered.

It wasn't. With a worried and frustrated sigh, he almost slammed the receiver back onto the cradle. He sat quietly for several seconds, then threw the sheet off and got up, reaching for his jeans and a clean t-shirt.

Within seconds he was slipping his bare feet into sneakers and picking up his keys near the front door and was soon speeding up Union in the Porsche, turning left towards the Potrero.

Morning traffic was still mercifully light and it wasn't too long before he had reached De Haro. His eyes scanned the cars parked along the street as he looked for a parking space. There was no sign of Mike's familiar blue sedan, and his frown deepened.

A yellow mustang pulled out of a spot further up the block and he swung the Porsche into it. He jogged back down the street, taking the steep steps to the Stone house two at a time, and pounding on the front door when he got to the stoop, pushing the bell at the same time.

No one came to the door; there were no sounds from within. He found the appropriate key and let himself in. In typical Mike Stone fashion, the place was immaculate, save for a dirty coffee cup in the kitchen sink.

He took the stairs to the second floor; the bed was made. The entire house showed no sign that anyone had been there overnight or, if they had, had left at an ungodly hour.

Steve stood in the middle of the living room, hands on his hips, his eyes sliding over the furniture and fixtures, looking for something, anything, that would tell him where his partner had gone. But there was nothing.

More worried than ever, he locked the door and made the long trudge back to his car.

# # # # #

Steve exited the elevator and made a left turn. Halfway down the corridor he stopped outside a glass door and knocked. "Come in," he heard the gruff voice from within.

He opened the door and stuck his head in. "Hey, Roy, do you know where Rudy is?"

Captain Devitt looked up from the report he was reading, his face breaking into a smile. "Rudy?" He stared at the younger man for a second, his face going blank, then his eyes widened and the smile returned. "Oh yeah, he has some big meeting with the Chief today. Gonna be gone all day. Is there something I can do for you?"

Looking down and sighing in frustration, Steve shook his head. "Nah, probably not. I, ah, I just haven't been able to get in touch with Mike for the past twenty-four hours and I was wondering if Rudy might know where he went."

"Mike? Geez, I don't know. He might know, but – What, Mike's missing?"

"No, he's not missing, he, ah, he's just not been in touch with anybody. I know he's working on something… not related to anything we're doing in Homicide."

"Something dangerous?" Devitt asked, and Steve could hear Ellie's voice in his ear.

"No, no," he shook his head, "routine stuff, you know…"

"Well, I wouldn't worry about it," Devitt said, glancing at the report in his hand. "Mike can take care of himself –"

"Yeah," Steve cut him off and the captain's eyes snapped back up. "Yeah, you said that the last time, remember?" He stared at Devitt with raised eyebrows and the older man frowned.

"Oh, yeah, right… well, ah, Mike's not after gang members this time, is he?"

Steve almost managed a smile. "Well, ah, no, not quite…"

Devitt grinned at him. "Then what are you worrying about?" He chuckled gently.

With an amused snort, Steve shook his head. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Thanks, Roy." He took a step back and started to let the door close.

"Listen, ah, Steve," Devitt called and he stopped. "Look, ah, how about I have Rudy give you a shout when he pops his head up, okay?"

Steve knew the worry on his face was easy to read, and he appreciated the captain's concern. "Thanks."

"You bet."

Steve took a backwards step into the corridor and let the door close in his wake.

# # # # #

The Mill Valley Glaziers' truck passed the slow moving gardener's pick-up, swinging back into the southbound lane, the empty aluminum glass carriers rattling. Cackling, Jack Hill reached across the front seat and grabbed the plastic bottle of Coke that was bouncing atop the front seat. It was well past lunch and he'd been too busy to eat yet; this would be his third bottle already today.

Putting it between his knees, trying to keep one eye on the road and one hand on the steering wheel, he twisted the cap off. The contents, under pressure from the shaking it had taken all morning, shot into the air.

"Shit!" he yelled as warm Coke sprayed over his pants and shirt, the steering wheel, his hands and as far up as his chin. "God damn it." He slammed on the brakes and pulled the truck onto the broad gravel shoulder. Picking up the half-empty bottle with his thumb and forefinger, trying to keep the sticky liquid from covering anything else, he opened the door and tossed the offending bottle onto the ground at the edge of the ditch.

He rooted around under the seat for a rag or some paper towels; his fingers landed on several deli napkins. Sliding out of the truck, he started to wipe the brown liquid off of his hands and face, then set to work on his pants and shirt.

Satisfied he had gotten most of it, he tossed the dirty napkins into the ditch and began to get into the truck. "Ah, shit," he growled, stepped back onto the shoulder and, looking both ways to be sure he was alone, crossed to the edge of the embankment and undid his fly.

Silently going about his business, his eyes floated over the trees and bushes in the deep ravine beneath his feet. He could smell gas. Frowning, he glanced down at the ground immediately below him and saw what looked like tire tracks going over the edge. He paused as he starting zipping his fly back up, following the trajectory of the tracks and catching his breath when he spotted the chrome bumper and rear taillights of a car protruding from a large thimbleberry bush.

# # # # #

Steve was sitting at his desk, his stare unfocused, his pen floating in midair. He had been making notes on the pad in front of him after a rather lengthy phone call with a sergeant from the San Diego Police Department. It was part of the investigation into the double homicide he was working with Healey and Haseejian; the going was slow but they thought they were making progress.

He glanced once more into Mike's empty office. He had spent the good part of the morning going through every drawer and file in the small room, looking for anything that would tell him where his partner might be. But he found nothing. The small knot of worry in his stomach was growing by the hour.

His ringing phone snapped him out of his reverie and he reached for the handset. "Homicide, Inspector Keller… Yes, Doctor Thurston, thanks for calling back… Yes, it's about Anna McLean, yes…" He went back to work.

# # # # #

Jack Hill had flagged down the first vehicle that approached, the gardener's pick-up he had passed earlier. He almost pulled the middle-aged Japanese man out of the truck and dragged him to the edge of the embankment. But it didn't take much persuading to convince the gardener that he needed to get to the nearest CHP office and summon help.

Almost before he knew it, sirens could be heard and two CHP patrol cars skidded to a halt near his truck. Within seconds, Sergeant Charlie Reardon had carefully descended into the steep ravine, relaying the license plate number back up to his colleague. Officer Jason Pullman was racing back to his cruiser when Reardon's voice reached his ears again.

"Get an ambulance and the fire department here too! We've got at least one victim. And a tow truck!"

"Right, Sarge!" Pullman yelled back as he yanked the mic from its cradle.

Hill was standing on the shoulder, looking between the two CHP officers. He suddenly felt helpless and, inexplicably, responsible. He approached Pullman, who was waiting for confirmation of his request. "Hey, uh, Officer, is, ah, is there anything I can do?"

Turning to Hill with a frown, the young highway patrolman smiled encouraging. "Ah, no thanks, sir, we have this under control. If you, ah, you just give me your name and phone number, you can be on your way."

"Oh, ah, oh okay," Hill said slowly, his darting gaze now directed anywhere except at the cop, "yeah, I can do that, I can do that." He didn't want to go back to work; he had found the wreck and he wanted to see this through, no matter how it ended.

The radio came to life again in Pullman's hand and Hill used the opportunity to return to edge of the ravine.

# # # # #

Sergeant Reardon carefully approached the passenger side door of the crushed car; there was no clean access on the left. He could see a man behind the wheel. Trying the door, he was mildly surprised when he heard the latch disengage. He pulled the heavy door open and crawled onto the front seat.

An older man in a suit and fedora, blood covering his face and right pant leg, was pinned between the steering wheel and the seat. Reardon reached out and laid two fingers against the injured man's neck; not only was he warm but Reardon could feel a pulse. Releasing a held breath of relief, the sergeant patted the suitcoat pockets, looking for a wallet or some kind of I.D. Reaching into the right jacket pocket, he pulled out a business card.

His eyes widening, he backed out of the car, found a spot where he could see the top of the ravine, and called for Pullman. "Jason, we've got one victim here – he's a cop! Tell dispatch to alert the SFPD that we've got one of theirs. A homicide lieutenant – Michael Stone!"

# # # # #

Sergeant Dan Healey got up from his desk and crossed the bullpen towards the desk nearest the inner office. Steve was on the phone, making notes, deep in conversation. The younger man glanced up as Healey dropped a sheet of paper in front of him; the sergeant indicated the paper with his eyes and Steve picked it up, scanning it quickly.

With a curt nod, he returned to his conversation and Healey walked away. But he could hear the inspector's change in tone as he asked a question now based on the information on the paper before him. The sergeant smiled.

With a bang, the outer office door slammed open and Captain Roy Devitt charged into the room, his eyes surveying the bullpen rapidly as he strode up to Steve's desk. The younger man looked up, startled, putting a hand over the mouthpiece of the receiver.

"Hang up!" Devitt growled, pointing at the phone. "Hang up!" he ordered again when Steve didn't move then continued gruffly, "I just got a call – they've found Mike's car in a ravine in Marin – and he's in it."


	13. Chapter 13

The tan LTD, roof light flashing and siren blaring, tore along the 101, past the second exit into Sausalito, another SFPD unmarked Ford hot on its tail. Captain Roy Devitt briefly tore his eyes from the road to glance at his silent passenger.

Steve Keller hadn't said a word since Devitt had demanded he hand over the keys before they got into the large sedan. The younger man was too upset to drive safely, the captain thought, and had made the request an order; with extreme reluctance, the inspector had complied. But Devitt was an excellent driver, especially at high speeds, and Steve soon realized that they were making just as good time with the captain behind the wheel as they would have if he were driving.

He had seen Devitt's brief sidelong glance, and he knew the same questions that were running through his mind were crossing the captain's as well. His thoughts were reeling; all they had been told was that Mike was alive.

"What the hell was he doing up here?" he murmured, almost to himself, and Devitt's gaze flicked his way once again.

"What was he working on?" Devitt raised his voice to be heard above the siren.

Steve looked at the older man then dropped his eyes and took a deep breath. "He, ah, he was doing a background check on a… on a woman who, ah, who says I'm the father of her son." His gaze travelled once more to Devitt's profile and he waited for the response.

But there wasn't one, at least not immediately. The captain opened his mouth to reply but thought better of it. Steve waited as the trees whipped by and the LTD swung into the left lane to pass a pick-up truck that was too slow getting out of the way. He glanced into the side mirror; the green Galaxie did the same.

"Is he?" Devitt finally asked, the LTD safely back in the right lane. "Is he your son?"

Steve looked through the windshield again and shook his head in perplexity. "I don't know. Mike wasn't telling me what he was finding out."

"Well, hopefully he'll be able to tell us now."

Devitt had noticed the mile marker on the side of the road and knew they were getting closer. He began to slow down. They rounded a bend in the two-lane highway and he slowed even more; there was a line of stopped vehicles ahead of them. Realizing that traffic would be reduced to a single lane at the crash site, he dropped his speed considerably, pulled the LTD onto the right shoulder and passed the line of cars and trucks as quickly as he deemed safe.

It didn't take long till they pulled up behind a CHP cruiser and a fire engine on the broad gravel shoulder. Three other CHP cars, a second fire engine, and an ambulance were scattered across the far lane; two CHP officers were dealing with the backed-up traffic. A tow truck sat perpendicular to the shoulder, its rear bumper at the edge of the embankment. A station wagon and a glazier's truck were parked within the cordoned-off perimeter as well.

Before Devitt could bring the LTD to a full stop, Steve had opened the door and was halfway out. Without stopping to close the door, he sprinted up to the CHP sergeant standing at the rear of the tow truck, staring into the ravine.

"Inspector Keller?" Reardon asked as the young man slid to a stop beside him. "I'm Sergeant Reardon."

Breathlessly, Steve nodded, his brow furrowed, looking down at the activity below him. He could see at least four firefighters, in full gear, and the rear end of what he knew was Mike's car visible through the heavy rough.

"I want to go down," Steve said, nodding towards the ravine and reaching for the thick rappelling rope that was attached to the bumper of the fire truck nearby.

"Look, um, yes, of course, but I can't let you down there just yet. Let me tell you what we have to do first, okay?" The sergeant's hands had come up in a calming gesture but he resisted grabbing the younger man by the arm.

Hesitating, frustrated but trying to control himself, Steve glanced down into the ravine again then back at the CHP officer. He nodded quickly.

"Okay, thanks." Reardon glanced up as Devitt, Healey and Haseejian approached, taking them in with a curt nod; introductions would come later. He looked back at Steve. "Your partner is alive, and from what the doctor has told us, he's in no real danger right now. But we can't get him out of the car just yet."

"Why not?" Steve's voice was strained; his words clipped and angry.

Reardon took a quick sharp breath, pausing slightly when the sound of a siren could be heard in the distance, approaching fast. He raised a forefinger. "Gas. His car must have had almost a full tank. It ruptured at some point, either on the way down or when it hit the tree. Can you smell it?"

The others nodded; even Steve, almost reluctantly it seemed.

"Well, the lieutenant is pinned behind the steering wheel and he has to be cut out. To do that we have to clear the brush around the car so we have unfettered access. And we can't begin to do either of those things until we get rid of the gas. One spark and the entire hillside'll go up."

"So what are you going to do?" Healey asked, glancing worriedly at Steve, who was starting to fidget; not a good sign, he knew.

"We have a pumper truck on the way. It has enough water in it to do the job and do it quickly. But it had to come from Sausalito and it was on another job when we called… it had to be refilled," Reardon explained quietly, knowing this was not what the San Francisco detectives wanted to hear.

The siren was now almost on top of them and the pumper truck came into view, coming to a smooth stop beside the tow truck near the edge of the ravine, the siren petering out. Three firefighters got out and started unrolling a two-inch hose, rappelling with it down into the ravine.

After watching the frenzied activity for a few seconds, Reardon turned back to Steve and the others. He nodded towards the station wagon parked nearby. "There's a doctor down there with them; he was just driving by and stopped. Lucky…"

Pulling his eyes away from the action around the wreck, Steve turned to Reardon. "How, ah, how bad is he?" he asked, his voice low and fearful.

The CHP captain glanced at Devitt and the others then faced Steve directly. "Well, from what I could see, he has two non-life threatening bullet wounds, one along his ribs on his right side, the other above his right knee. And I'm pretty sure his head hit the side window; there was a lot of blood on the glass and on his forehead. But he moaned a couple of times when I was with him, so he's… he's semi-conscious, I guess."

Steve was staring once more at the blue car; he nodded slowly, swallowing heavily and biting his lower lip. He knew there were more questions he needed to ask, like if they found the gun or were there signs of someone else in the car, but he couldn't concentrate on anything except his partner.

They heard shouts as the rescue workers moved out of the way and the fireman with the hose nodded to his colleague, who turned the pump on. A strong stream of water shot from the hose. The fireman and hose disappeared behind the bushes and the sound of water, under pressure, making contact with both metal and dirt, could be heard.

When it finally stopped, Reardon continued with a sympathetic smile. "Now we're going to get him out."

With a quick look at his colleagues, Steve crossed to the fire truck, picked up the rope and lowered himself into the ravine. The grass was soaking, and large patches of mud were now everywhere, but he didn't notice nor care.

At the uneven bottom, getting his balance, he released the rope and started cautiously towards the car. There were more fully suited firefighters than he'd originally surmised; at least seven that he could see. One of them picked up what looked like a large hedge trimmer and fired it up. As he watched from several yards away, the bushes around the car were cut down and tossed aside within seconds. There was now clear access to the car from all sides.

And Steve caught his breath at what he saw. Because of the angle of the hill, the rear of the car was several feet higher than what was left of the hood, which was bent upward and wrapped around a large tree trunk. The doors open, a firefighter was kneeling on the back seat. One ambulance attendant was leaning in the driver's side window, the other barely visible in the back seat beyond the fireman. An older man in a dark suit was kneeling on the front seat, facing away; Steve figured he was the doctor.

He couldn't see Mike.

Suddenly realizing he was shaking, Steve took an unsteady few steps towards the car. A tall, middle-aged fireman appeared at his side. "I'm, ah, I'm his partner," he said unsteadily, nodding towards the car.

With a quick sympathetic nod, the fire captain nodded. "We're going to start cutting him out. Do you, ah, do you want to see him? We can let you see him for a second."

Steve nodded, no longer confident in the strength of his voice.

"You got it. John!" the captain, Baines read his nameplate, yelled at his colleague in the back seat. The younger man turned and Baines indicated Steve with a nod of his head. Returning the nod, the firefighter backed out and made way; Baines directed Steve towards the wreck and the cop knelt tentatively on the steeply angled back seat.

He could see Mike's head; a gauze bandage had been wrapped around his forehead and a cervical collar around his neck. His eyes were closed; there was blood on his face. The right sleeves of his suit jacket and shirt had been cut off, and a blood pressure cuff was wrapped around his upper arm.

"Mike… Mike, it's me, it's Steve…" He reached over the top of front seat, laid his hand on his partner's shoulder and squeezed. "Mike…"

The older man in the front looked at him and smiled understandingly. "He's unconscious, son. We're going to get him out of here as soon as we can."

Nodding, not taking his eyes off his partner, Steve backed out of the car. Captain Baines put a hand on his arm and pulled him a little further away.

"They have to cut through the pillar between the doors, then we'll remove it. Then we'll cut the bolts on the seat so we can move it back and get him out."

Steve swallowed, struggling to keep his breaths deep and even, and watched as two firemen appeared with a thick grey blanket. The driver's door had been wrenched open, the crumpled metal shrieking from the effort. With help from the ambulance attendants, the two firemen leaned into the car and carefully placed the blanket around Mike and over his head. The doctor held up the other end of the blanket, providing an air pocket for both himself and his patient. Everyone else cleared out of the car.

The hydraulic cutter roared to life; showering sparks, the top of the middle pillar was cut through first, then the bottom. The metal strut was removed and tossed aside. Now they had full access to the front seat.

The doctor, who had his eyes on the diaphragm of the sphygmomanometer, put up a hand and everyone stopped moving. He had inflated the cuff and was watching the pressure as he released the air. Removing his stethoscope from his ears, he glanced over his shoulder. "Captain Baines!"

As the captain stepped forward, the doctor backed out of the car. Steve stepped closer to them both. "Doctor Halperin," the older physician said curtly, holding out his hand.

"Steve Keller… um, Mike's my partner," he said, shaking Halperin's hand quickly, allowing the doctor to return his attention to the fire captain.

"I'm still worried about what we discussed earlier," the physician said, glancing back at the car. The ambulance attendants had joined them, and Halperin looked at them with raised eyebrows. They both nodded.

Baines inhaled deeply, releasing it in a rush as he thought. "Okay," he said quickly, "I'll put my biggest man in the back and he can brace the front seat. We'll cut it and get him out as fast as we can. What do you think?"

Halperin glanced at Steve before turning back to Baines. He nodded reluctantly. "It's our only option."

"Right." Baines slapped Halperin on the shoulder, then moved off to talk to his men. The ambulance attendants went back to the car.

Halperin looked at the young cop. "Steve, is it?" A nod. The doctor took a deep breath and held it, looking away and then back. "Steve, I want to be perfectly honest with you. We might have an insurmountable problem here… The, ah, the steering wheel is applying a great deal of pressure to your partner's chest. Now, we're hoping that he's going to come away from all this with, if we're lucky, with only severely bruised ribs and sternum or… cracked maybe…" He cleared his throat nervously.

"But, Steve, there's also the possibility that the pressure from the steering wheel is acting as a…well, sort of like a tourniquet. The impact may have caused internal injuries that, because of the pressure the wheel is applying to his chest… well, what I'm trying to say is…" he sighed sadly, "there's a possibility that when the pressure is released, he could start to hemorrhage at such a rate that… that we won't be able to get him to the hospital in time… Hell, we won't even get him up to the ambulance…"

Steve stared at the doctor, unmoving, as if not believing what he had just been told. Finally finding his voice, he sputtered, "Is there some other –?"

Halperin shook his head sharply, then gripped the younger man's forearm and squeezed. "No," he said softly, "no…" He glanced down briefly and cleared his throat. "I've given him a shot of morphine. He won't feel a thing."

Steve nodded distractedly as the doctor moved back towards the car and slid once more onto the front seat beside his patient. A Stokes basket was quickly lowered and carried around to the far side of the car. Everyone got into their required positions. The largest of the firefighters climbed into the back, pressing his feet against the rear seat and his back against the front seat. He was there to brace the front seat so it wouldn't move when the bolts holding it to the chassis were severed.

The firefighter with the hydraulic cutter leaned into the back of the car, positioning himself and the large tool on the floor and sliding it into place under the front seat. He looked under the seat with a flashlight then sat up quickly. "Captain," he yelled, "the bolt near the door is already broken, sir. Must've happened in the crash."

Halperin glanced over his shoulder, meeting Baines' eyes, and a very slight smile appeared on both faces. Steve caught the looks and turned to Baines, his eyes a question.

The fire captain's smile got a little wider, a little more encouraging. "That's a good sign. It means the seat gave way during the crash, and that might mean the pressure against your partner's chest isn't as severe as we think it is… and that's a very good thing, son."

A loud voice cut through the air. "Is everybody ready?!" There was a chorus of confirmations. "All right, we'll do this on three. Brace yourself, Pete," the man in the back seat nodded, "and we'll go on three."

Steve closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and held his breath.

"And in one… two… three!"


	14. Chapter 14

An uneasy silence settled over the crash site, save for the slightly muffled cacophony of metal on metal as the hydraulic cutter sliced its way through the bolt under the centre of front seat. With a jolt, the cutter slipped forward as the bolt split in two and the seat shifted slightly. The firefighter in the back seat braced himself to take the weight; Doctor Halperin and the ambulance medic steadied the unconscious man between them, then they were in action.

With a speed that was almost too fast to see, Captain Baines yelled to his man in the back, who bent his knees and released the pressure against the front seat, which began to slide backwards, taking its passenger with it. Halperin steadied Mike's head as other hands reached into the car and within seconds he was free of the wreck and being placed onto a backboard, which was lying on the gray blanket now spread out on the ground beside the car.

Halperin scrambled across the front seat as Mike was extracted and knelt beside the unconscious man. The firefighters took a step back and everyone waited, breaths held.

On the other side of the car, Steve couldn't move. His stare was riveted on the faces of the firemen he could see, but dark spots were floating before his eyes. He knew he was close to passing out; it felt like he couldn't breathe. Time stood still.

As if in a fog, he heard Halperin's muffled voice and watched as the tension in the firefighters faces softened into relieved smiles and they went back to work. Moving quickly, Mike was lifted and placed into the Stokes basket.

At first not sure what was going on, Steve looked at Baines. With a grin, the captain reached out and grabbed the younger man's arm to steady him as Steve's knees buckled and he gasped in relief. "He's hanging in there," Baines said encouragingly and winked. "Let's get him up top, shall we?"

As Baines walked towards his men, Steve took a few steps back, then leaned forward, his hands on his knees, trying to stop his heart from pounding out of his chest. He watched as the litter holding his injured partner was carried around the car and a belaying rope secured to the head of the basket. Only Mike's bandaged head was visible; his body was wrapped in the grey blanket and snugly strapped into the wire litter.

As six fireman climbed into place at intervals up the hill on both sides, bracing themselves on the steep and now slippery terrain, Baines and the large man he'd addressed as Pete began to pull on the belaying rope. Slowly, steadied and guided by the men on either side, the litter made its way up the hill.

Reardon, the three city detectives and two firefighters, watching from beside the fire truck, positioned themselves so they could assist when the Stokes basket reached the road. Eager hands reached for the top of the litter as it slid into view, Haseejian and Healey almost elbowing the smoke-eaters out of the way. With understanding nods, the firemen backed away and let the cops carry their unconscious colleague to the waiting ambulance.

Watching anxiously from below, Steve glanced at Halperin when the bespectacled doctor appeared next to him, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezing. "Thank god we were wrong," Halperin breathed, shaking his head with a dry chuckle. "His heart rate and blood pressure are good, all things considered."

Watching the litter disappear over the top of the hill, he turned to Baines and Steve as he crossed to the rope, preparing to haul himself up.

"I've got privileges at both Marin General and SF General – and we're about equal distance from both of them right now. I suggest we take him into The City. You all right with that, Steve?" he asked, beaming.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, hoping the worst was over, the young cop nodded, and Baines clapped him on the back, chuckling gently. With a wink, Halperin, who, Steve realized, wasn't all that much younger than Mike, grabbed the rope and began to pull himself up the hill. "I'll get your bag, Doc, and we'll take care of your car!" Baines called after him and the physician nodded.

Letting the ambulance medics scramble up the steep hill before him, knowing they needed to get on their way as soon as possible, Steve pulled himself over the edge of the ravine in time to see the flurry of activity at the back doors of the waiting ambulance. With fluid coordination, Mike was removed from the litter and placed on the gurney, which was then slid into the ambulance, Dr. Halperin and one attendant getting in beside it. The other medic got into the driver's seat and within seconds the back doors were slammed and they were gone.

Devitt turned to the young man beside him; they had all moved close enough so that they'd seen Mike's blood soaked pant leg and the right side of his shirt under the suit coat. He slid a hand across Steve's shoulders and briefly pulled him close in an encouraging squeeze; he could feel the shallow ragged breaths as Steve struggled to hold himself together.

"Listen, ah, Norm and I have this," Dan Healey said softly from slightly behind them. "We'll do the follow up, if that's okay?" He turned to Reardon and the CHP sergeant nodded. "You two, ah, you two go with Mike, okay?" Healey gestured with his head in the direction the ambulance had taken. "He needs you." He reached out and squeezed Steve's arm.

Shaking his head vaguely, Steve followed Devitt to the car and got in. As the captain turned the engine over, he glanced across the front seat and smiled. "We got to him on time; he's gonna be okay."

Staring at his shaking hands, Steve nodded as Devitt threw the car into reverse and spun it into a tight one-eighty, snapping the light and siren back on. Within seconds they were once more tearing down the 101, but this time, though still worried, they both felt a little more encouraged.

# # # # #

The glass door of the Homicide bureau opened tentatively and a young blonde woman, a youngster in her arms, stepped into the busy room. Her blue eyes, wide with wonder, scanned the detectives at their desks. All were busy, most were on their phones.

Hesitantly, she approached a good-looking young black man with a receiver to his ear, making notes on a long yellow legal pad on the desk before him. She waited patiently until he finished the call and hung up, then softly cleared her throat.

Inspector Lee Lessing looked up quickly, a bit startled. "Uhm, can I help you?" he asked, eyebrows on the rise.

"Ah, yes," the young woman asked quietly with a warm smile, hefting the small boy in her arms, "uhm, I'm looking for Inspector Keller, Steve Keller? He works here, right?"

"Yes, ma'am, he does," Lessing nodded, smiling at the child.

"Oh, uhm, he's not here today?" She glanced once more around the room.

Lessing shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. And I don't know when he'll be back. He's out on an emergency."

"An emergency?" she repeated, her blue eyes boring into his. "Nothing personal, I hope…?"

Disarmed, the young inspector smiled grimly. "Well, I'm afraid it is. His partner has been injured in a car accident –"

"Mike?" she blurted out and Lessing pulled his head back in surprise.

"You know Mike?" he asked.

"Well, sure, I've met him a couple of times. He's a wonderful man. What happened?" she asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Well, ah, we're not sure right now, but it seems his car went off the road up in Marin."

"Oh my god," she said, dropping her eyes, turning her gaze inward. "But he's gonna be okay?" She looked at him again.

"I'm afraid I don't know… we, ah, we just found out about the accident a couple of hours ago. But we're all hoping."

"Of course, of course," she whispered. She stood stock still for several seconds, absorbing this new information, then she looked at him again and smiled slightly. "I'm sorry, I'll get out of your hair. I don't want to be in your way, you have so many important things to do."

As she started to walk away, Lessing asked, "Say, ah, can I give Steve your name, tell him you dropped by at least?"

She stopped and looked back at him, hefting the small boy in her arms again. "Sure, yeah, of course. Please tell him Donna came to see him. Donna Atkinson. And this here is Joshua." She turned her grin from the boy to Lessing, and the inspector smiled back. "He knows who we are."

"You bet. I'll tell him."

Still smiling, she turned towards the office door. Nobody saw the smile disappear, replaced by a growing rage by the time she stepped out into the corridor.

# # # # #

Devitt crossed the busy waiting room with two steaming cardboard cups of coffee in his hands. "Here," he said, handing one to Steve as he sat once again in the hard plastic chair beside the young inspector. "It's black. I think we both need the caffeine… untrammeled," he chuckled to himself as he took off the plastic lid and took a tentative sip.

Steve, who had been staring unfocused at the tile floor, managed a soft snort and a slight smile. He glanced at his watch again before taking the lid off his own coffee. "What's taking them so long?"

Devitt glanced over, knowing the question was rhetorical but deciding to answer it anyway. "Halperin knows we're out here. I'm pretty sure he wants to make sure he has all the information he needs before he talks to us."

Trying to swallow a frustrated sigh, Steve took a sip of the coffee and sat back, his eyes once more raking the room without really seeing anything. He felt Devitt jostle his arm gently and looked towards the far entrance; Doctor Halperin had entered the room and was obviously looking for them.

Standing quickly, they started towards the physician, who waved at them to stay where they were; seats in the crowded waiting room were at a premium.

If there was any fear left in their minds about the severity of their colleague's injures, it was quickly dispelled when Halperin's face split into a wide grin.

"You ready for some good news?" he almost crowed as he got close enough to talk without shouting. When Steve's eyes widened, he laughed, gesturing for them to retake their seats as he grabbed an empty chair nearby and pulled it up to face them.

"Seems that bolt breaking under the seat was the best thing that could've happened. The impact of the car hitting the tree was minimized when that seat gave way. If you want to call it a miracle, go right ahead, I won't argue."

"So, what does that mean?" Steve asked tentatively, feeling the tense muscles across his back and shoulders start to ease.

"That means that his ribs and sternum are just badly bruised, not broken, and he has no internal injuries. Now we're pretty sure he has a concussion but that can't be confirmed until he wakes up, and right now he's still out from the morphine. But even a concussion will clear up with time.

"The laceration on his right side has been stitched up – he's going to have a rather nasty scar. The bullet dug a pretty good groove, but it could have been a lot worse.

"But," Halperin continued, his grin getting even wider, "the best news of all is that bullet in his knee. It's actually not even in his knee, thank god. It's in the bone just above the knee. The x-ray shows that the bone is intact, there's no break or even a hairline fracture. The bullet does have to be removed, of course, and he's scheduled to have that done tomorrow morning. We want to give his body some time to recover from the trauma of the accident before we subject him to an operation, no matter how minor it is."

As Devitt chuckled softly and laid a hand on his young colleague's shoulder, Steve looked up at the ceiling and exhaled loudly. Then, shaking his head in relief, he looked at Halperin and managed a smile. "Doctor, what would we have done without you? Thank you." He held out his right hand and the physician shook it happily.

"You're more than welcome, and I'd love to stay and follow up on all this, but I have a whole afternoon's worth of patients I have to make amends to, and a receptionist who's going to have my ass in a sling, pardon my French, if I don't get back to my office _toot sweet_ ," he laughed as he stood, pausing to shake Devitt's hand before turning to leave.

"One of the ER doctors will be out to talk to you soon. Oh and, ah, give my best to Mike when he wakes up, will ya? He won't know who I am, but that's okay." With a broad grin and a wink, the doctor crossed the waiting room and disappeared down the corridor.

Steve had just looked at Devitt with a wide-eyed and relieved sigh when Dan Healey came into the waiting room, a dark brown leather briefcase in his hand. Spotting his colleagues, he crossed to them quickly. "How is he?" he asked in a rush as he got closer.

Devitt grinned. "He's gonna be fine."

Healey stopped and his entire body sagged with relief. "Oh, thank god. Norm and I have been worried sick."

Steve, who had recognized the briefcase as Mike's, nodded in that direction. "Why have you got that?"

"Ah," Healey said, raising it slightly. "We went through the car. We found Mike's gun; I just dropped it off at the lab. There are two empty chambers," he said suggestively and both of his colleagues nodded; neither was surprised. "And," he raised the briefcase again, "I found this in the trunk."

Healey put the briefcase on Halperin's vacated chair and snapped the latches. "Have a look," he said to Steve.

Eyeing Healey with a frown, Steve lifted the lid of the briefcase. There was a map, a small white envelope and several file folders inside.

"Look in the envelope," Healey suggested and Steve picked it up, lifting the flap and removing a 4"x6" colour photograph.

Devitt, who was looking over his colleague's shoulder, whistled lowly. "Holy hell, Steve, do you have a brother?"

Stunned, his mouth dropping open slightly, the homicide inspector turned the print over. On the back, in Mike's hand, was written

 _Kyle Sawyer (Joshua's Dad?)._


	15. Chapter 15

"Who is he?" Devitt asked as they continued to stare at the colour photo in Steve's hand.

"Kyle Sawyer," the younger man said, bringing the back of the photo closer to the captain's face.

"Yes, thank you, I can read," Devitt sighed sarcastically, "I meant… _who_ is he… existentially… Not his name."

Healey turned a laughing snort into a cough as Steve shot Devitt a peeved look, then focused again on the photo. "I have no idea. Must be someone Mike's investigating."

Remembering what Steve had told him in the car on the way to the crash site, Devitt quickly put two-and-two together, realizing that Steve probably didn't want to discuss his possible paternity in front of Healey. He turned his attention to the sergeant and raised his eyebrows, cocking his head towards the younger man.

It took Healey a second or two to catch on, then he opened his mouth and raised a forefinger. "Ah. Uhm, I'll, ah, I'll leave that with you, Steve. I've, ah, I gotta get back to Norm. He's having the car towed in." As he turned to go, he said over his shoulder, "Give my best to Mike when you see him."

Devitt watched him leave. Steve hadn't taken his eyes from the photo; the captain knew the image had triggered something in the inspector's mind. "Do you think he has something to do with what happened to Mike?"

Steve shrugged slightly. "I have no idea, but I think the answer to that is in there somewhere." He nodded towards the briefcase on the chair then glanced up at Devitt. He was torn; part of him wanted to start going through the contents of the briefcase right away while the rest of him wanted to be there for Mike.

"Inspector Keller?" he heard his name called and looked up to see a white-coated doctor with a clipboard in his hands standing at the entrance. Steve tossed the photo into the briefcase and snapped it shut, then he and Devitt got to their feet and crossed the room.

"Doctor Rodriguez," the young Hispanic resident introduced himself with a nod. "You gentlemen are here with Lieutenant Stone?"

"Yes," Steve said, transferring the briefcase to his left hand so he could shake the doctor's. "Steve Keller, I'm his partner. This is Captain Devitt." The physician and the captain exchanged nods. "How is he?"

"Ah, Doctor Halperin talked to you a few minutes ago, right?"

Both detectives nodded.

"Well, I'm afraid I don't have much to add," Rodriguez said with a wry smile. "The lieutenant's still unconscious but that's to be expected and it's nothing to worry about. He'll probably come to sometime later tonight. And we have him scheduled for removal of the bullet in his leg first thing in the morning. But considering what he's been through, he's a hell of a lucky man, and we'll be able to send him home in a couple of days."

"Really?" Devitt said with a surprised shake of his head, glancing at Steve.

Rodriguez chuckled. "Well, he's gonna be stiff and sore for awhile and he'll probably be walking with a limp for a couple of weeks but yeah, he can go home." He closed the hinged metal clipboard and looked at Steve. "So, do you want to see him?"

"Can I?"

"Of course. He's going to be moved to a room upstairs in a little while but you can stay with him for a few minutes now if you want?"

"Ah, yeah, I'd like that," Steve said, slightly surprised but very pleased.

Devitt took the briefcase out of his hand. "You go, I'll wait here."

Almost in a daze, Steve followed Rodriguez down the corridor. Devitt turned to go back to their seats but they were already taken. "Ah crap," the captain growled as he glared around the room, trying in vain to locate an empty chair.

# # # # #

Steve took the file folders out of the briefcase and laid them on the desk. The bullpen was empty and the lights off; only the overheads in Mike's office were on. It was a place of sanctuary for him, a connection to the man he needed now more than ever.

Before leaving the hospital, he had spent several minutes standing beside his partner's bed. If it weren't for the small bandage above the older man's right eye, the slightly larger one on his left temple, and the stubble, it looked like he'd just laid down for a nap, not that he'd been trapped in his decimated car for over twenty-four hours. And that, Steve conceded happily, was a huge relief.

Since he'd opened the briefcase in the hospital waiting room, a nagging dread kept tugging at the back of his mind. And when he asked if Devitt could remain at the hospital and keep an eye on his partner until he returned, the captain agreed immediately.

"I have a feeling that whoever shot Mike thinks he died in the accident… and when they find out he didn't…" Steve had speculated aloud.

"Don't worry," Devitt had assured him, "I'll make sure everybody that gets into his room has legitimate I.D. Does that work for you?" he finished with a wry smile that Steve gratefully returned.

And now, as he laid out the paperwork on his partner's desk, he hoped he was wrong but knew that he wasn't.

Mike had kept a detailed record of his legwork, and it was not hard to follow the trail. There were notes from his interview with Donna Atkinson's mother in Sacramento; Atkinson's home phone local usage details from a two-month period on either side of Steve's week in Mount Shasta; notes from his interview with Kyle Sawyer, the young man in the photo; and the map, with routes from San Francisco to Sacramento and San Francisco to Willow Creek highlighted.

Then there was the small piece of paper with the name Janice Patterson and a badge number on it. Frowning, Steve picked up the phone and dialed three numbers. "Mark, it's Steve Keller," he said pleasantly when the other end connected. "I know it's late, man, but I also know you graveyard shift guys are always bright-eyed and busy-tailed, no matter what the hour." He chuckled at the reply. "Look, Mark, I know your shift is just about to begin, but could you do me a favour? I need to know who Janice Patterson is; badge number 2304…. Yeah, I'm at my desk… Thanks."

He hung up, sighing heavily. Things were beginning to add up to a sum he wasn't sure he wanted to reach.

# # # # #

"Homicide, Inspector Keller."

" _Ah, yes, sir, this is Officer Patterson. Lieutenant Paulson asked me to call you."_

"Yes, Officer Patterson, thanks for getting back to me so soon."

" _No problem, sir. My shift is just about to start so you caught me at a good time. What can I do for you?"_

"Well, ah, my partner's Lieutenant Stone and I was wondering if you've had any contact with him in the past few days with regards to an investigation he's conducting?"

" _Do you mean the one concerning Donna Atkinson and her son?"_

Steve's heart started to pound a little harder. "Yes," he cleared his throat softly, "ah, yes, that would be the one. What was it that the lieutenant asked you to do?"

" _Well, he said he wanted to ask Miss Atkinson some questions and he asked me to look after her son at his house. I do a lot of work with young children for the department and Captain Olsen recommended me. The lieutenant wanted to take her somewhere."_

"Do you know where?"

" _No, but I know they were going to be gone for quite awhile. The lieutenant asked me if I was free the entire day and I told him I was."_

"And this was yesterday?" Steve asked, his heart in his throat.

" _Yes. But it turned out to be a shorter day than I was expecting."_

"What do you mean?"

" _Well, like I said, I was expecting them to be gone all day, but Miss Atkinson returned just after noon."_

"Was the lieutenant with her?"

" _No, she was alone. She said they finished early and the lieutenant had dropped her off and gone on to the Hall. So I gave her her son back, locked the house and took the rest of the day off. I, ah, I still have the lieutenant's key."_

His heart was pounding in his ears so loudly he could barely hear her. "Ah, Officer, uhm, thank you. I'll probably have some more questions later but, ah, thank you. You've been a big help."

" _Happy to do so."_

Steve slowly hung up, staring at the receiver. He remembered the bruise on Donna's leg; it was fresh, he knew. Swallowing heavily, he picked up the phone again, flipping his notebook open and locating the number he wanted.

"Yes, this is Inspector Keller, San Francisco Police. I need to speak to Captain Devitt. He's in with Lieutenant Stone… Yes, thank you, I'll wait."

It was a few minutes until the line was opened once again. "Captain Devitt, how can I help you?"

"Roy, it's Steve. Look, I'm pretty sure I've narrowed it down. I want you to be on the lookout for a young woman, Donna Atkinson. She's about five-two, a hundred pounds, dirty blonde hair and blue eyes."

"You think _she's_ the one that overpowered Mike?" Devitt sounded incredulous.

"Yeah. And I'd advise you not to underestimate her."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, then Devitt said quietly, "Yeah, okay, I got that. You be careful, you hear."

"I will. You take care of Mike."

"You got it."

They both hung up. Steve stood, snatched his jacket from the back of Mike's chair and strode quickly across the bullpen. He didn't notice the note on the floor under his desk, the note from Lee Lessing that a Donna Atkinson had been in Homicide that afternoon looking for him.

# # # # #

The tan LTD screamed to a stop in front of the Starlight Motel office in Daly City. He glanced towards the parking space in front of Room 8; it was empty. Getting out, he surveyed the small courtyard-style parking lot. There was no sign of the dark blue Ford Pinto.

Several seconds later, he was standing at the front desk, his badge in the clerk's face. The portly middle-aged man sighed wearily. "Which one of my esteemed clientele are you interested in?" he groaned sarcastically.

Shaking his head in frustrated irony, Steve said coldly, "Number 8, Donna Atkinson."

The clerk's dour face brightened and he almost smiled. "Donna! Sweet kid… so's her son. But you're too late. She left this afternoon."

"Left?"

"Left… as in moved out. Gone. Capisce?" he snarled.

"When did she leave?"

"Sometime late this afternoon. Paid me in full, stuffed everything she had into that little shit box of hers and took off."

"Do you know where she went?" Steve pocketed his badge; he was beginning to lose patience but willed himself not to lose his temper.

"Like I care?"

The cop sighed angrily and the clerk lowered his eyes, trying to evade the glare. "Did she tell you where she was going, by any chance?"

"No," the clerk sounded slightly contrite, "she just said she was taking that boy of hers to stay with his father."

Steve froze; his breaths short, sharp and audible. He cleared his throat loudly and closed his eyes. "Which direction did she go, did you notice?" The words were clipped and the clerk suddenly knew he was on very thin ice.

"She, uh, she turned right, towards The City."

# # # # #

The LTD turned slowly onto Union, the driver's eyes quickly scanning the street, once more looking for the Pinto. His beloved Porsche was parked further down the block but there was no sign of the small blue car, and he almost relaxed.

The sun had finally set on a very long day that had ended a lot better than it had begun. He smiled to himself; Mike had been found and he was going to be all right, and Devitt was going to spend the night in his room. There were still a lot of loose ends to be tied up, not the least was the apprehension of Donna Atkinson, but that could wait until tomorrow.

Right now, he needed sleep, then he needed to spend time with his partner. Donna was somewhere in The City with her son but, as far as he knew, she wasn't armed. He was, and he took comfort in that.

As he trudged up to the stoop at his front door, he scrambled for his key and slid it into the lock, turning it counter-clockwise. When there was no familiar click of the deadbolt retracting, he froze. The door was unlocked.

He took a quick step backwards and drew his weapon, holding the .38 eye-high as he dropped into a shooter's stance. He reached out slowly with his left hand and pushed the door open. It was dark in the small apartment and he hesitated, listening. There was no sound.

Silently he slipped over the threshold, swinging his revolver around quickly, covering the room. Nothing. As he took another step forward, a high-pitched sound reached his ears: it sounded like the chatter of a small child.

He took two more steps into the room and froze. Joshua Atkinson was sitting in a small wooden playpen in the centre of the room.


	16. Chapter 16

His eyes continuing to scan the room, snapping back and forth from the stairs to the kitchen door, Steve slowly stepped closer to the playpen in the centre of the room. With his back to the far wall, his eyes still travelling the room and his gun at the ready, he reached down and ran his left hand gently over Joshua's head. The toddler looked up at him and giggled, then looked back at the stuffed bear in his hand, shaking it.

"Donna!" Steve called out, listening for a reply. All he could hear was the child's babbling and the loud hum of the fridge. He withdrew his hand from the playpen and took a step towards the kitchen. "Donna!" He sidled up to the edge of the kitchen door then spun into the opening, the .38 at the ready. The small room was empty. He backed out slowly and crossed to the stairs.

A couple of minutes later, holstering his revolver, satisfied the apartment was empty save for Joshua and himself, he jogged back down the stairs and sat on the sofa. He picked up the phone and balanced it on his knee, tucking the receiver against his shoulder as he dialed. Waiting for the line to be answered, he stared at the young boy in the playpen.

"Yes, this is Inspector Keller, Homicide. I need to get in touch with Officer Janice Patterson. I know she's on patrol tonight. And I need her at 2-8-7 Union as soon as possible… Yes, 2-8-7… Thanks."

He hung up and put the phone on the coffee table, staring once more at the boy he now knew was definitely not his son. And he wasn't sure exactly how he felt about that.

# # # # #

The door was opened by a good looking but obviously frazzled young man holding a crying Joshua Atkinson in his arms.

"Inspector Keller?" Officer Janice Patterson asked quickly, trying to swallow a smile.

"Officer Patterson, yes!" he almost yelled, taking a step back to let her in. "Am I glad to see you!"

As she stepped over the threshold, he held the child out and she took him from the obviously relieved detective. "I got here as soon as I could," she said with a chuckle, as she turned Joshua to face her, bouncing him in her arms. "And how are you, Joshua? Are you being a good little boy?"

"Yes, he was, except for the crying and the screaming," Steve said with a mirthless chuckle as he crossed to the sofa and sat heavily, running his hands over his face.

Patterson bounced the boy deeper into the room. "His mother's not here?"

"Ah, no," the detective said, looking up with a facial shrug. "I don't know where she is. I came home and this," he gestured towards the now empty playpen, "was here and he was in it."

Patterson looked around the living room. "How did she get in? Does she have a key?" She was rapidly returning to cop mode.

"No, she doesn't and no, I don't know how she got in." With a tired sigh, he got to his feet. "Is your partner down in the car?"

She nodded.

"Okay, I'm gonna go down and get him. I want him to help me go through the house and try to find out how she did get in. Okay?"

Patterson laughed. "You're going to be our big call of the night, Inspector."

# # # # #

Devitt was sitting on the hard metal chair, his legs crossed, flipping through a fairly recent Time magazine when he heard the first moan from the hospital bed. He dropped the magazine to the floor and got up quickly.

"Mike…?"

His eyes still closed, the lieutenant moaned again.

Devitt put a hand on his forearm. "Mike, it's Roy."

With a short gasp, Mike opened his eyes, blinking slowly, staring at the ceiling. He took a few shallow breaths through his open mouth then closed his eyes again. "Where am I?" he whispered.

"In the General. You were in a car accident."

"Yeah, I remember." Mike tried to take a deep breath but stopped abruptly with a grimace. "God, that hurts," he breathed.

"Your chest is bruised, you were pinned behind the wheel."

Mike nodded slightly. "I was shot too." Suddenly his eyes flew open. "Donna…" He tried to sit up, gasping in pain as he grabbed the side rail. The room spun and he slammed his eyes shut, his left arm circling his chest, his hand over the bullet laceration on his side.

Devitt put his hands on his colleague's shoulders to push him back down. "Mike, lie back, you can't get up, you still have the bullet in your leg. Just lie back."

With a groan, Mike opened his eyes and stopped struggling, holding himself up on his right elbow with his hand on the rail.

"And you have a concussion so you're gonna have to take it easy for a couple of days."

"Donna…" Mike repeated through a moan, closing his eyes once more as a wave of nausea overtook him, trying to sit up again, "you gotta warn Steve… she's the one that shot me… she's gonna go after him…"

"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," Devitt murmured reassuringly as Mike collapsed back onto the bed, breathing in heavy gasps as he tried to control the pain and wooziness. "Steve knows all about Donna. He's trying to find her. And he warned me about letting her in here to go after you again."

His eyes closed, fighting the discomfort that seemed to encompass his entire body, Mike growled through clenched teeth, "She's not going to come after me again; she's not interested in me. I just got in her way. She wants Steve… and if she can't have him, she'll kill him."

# # # # #

Patterson was sitting on the sofa with Joshua when Steve and her partner, Officer Kevin Chatsworth, returned to the living room. She greeted them with raised eyebrows.

Chatsworth shook his head. "Nothing."

With a frustrated sigh, Steve continued on into the kitchen. Chatsworth dropped down onto the sofa beside his partner. "He's a cute little guy," the big red-headed cop chuckled, reaching out to ruffle the toddler's wavy light brown hair.

Steve came back into the room, standing near the kitchen door and running a weary hand across the back of his neck. He looked at his guests and shrugged. "Well, I guess this is something I'm gonna have to figure out tomorrow." He focused on Patterson.

She glanced at the boy beside her and smiled. "I made the call. Children's Services are aware of what's going on and they're going to take him. Kevin and I are going to bring him over there now." She nodded towards the playpen. "Is that all she left here?"

Steve looked at the playpen before he nodded. "That's all I can find. That and the bear."

Patterson looked at Chatsworth. "Hope CA has enough diapers, or we're going to be making a pit stop," she chuckled. She stood, picking the now much quieter child up and laying his head against her shoulder; he yawned loudly, his eyes closing, and all three adults smiled warmly.

"I, uh, I don't how to take these things apart," Steve said softly as he looked at the playpen, shrugging helplessly.

Chatsworth grinned. "Piece a cake," he said easily, stepping to the centre of the room and starting to dismantle the wooden structure. "I've got two kids of my own. I can put these together and take 'em apart with my eyes closed." Within seconds, the playpen was dismantled and he had the sections tucked under his arm.

"Wow," Steve said quietly, shaking his head slightly, "that's, ah, that's impressive."

"Thank you, sir," Chatsworth answered proudly, with a grin and a chuckle. He picked up the stuffed bear from the sofa.

Steve crossed to the front door and opened it; the two officers stepped out onto the landing. Patterson turned back so that Joshua was close the inspector. He reached out and laid a hand gently on the toddler's head; the sleeping boy didn't stir.

"They'll look after him very well until you find his mother," Patterson said gently.

Steve's eyes didn't leave Joshua's face. He smiled wistfully. "I have a feeling his mother won't really care what we do with him," he said sadly, and Patterson looked at the child in her arms, her brow furrowing.

"Thanks," Steve said, looking at Patterson and smiling in gratitude.

Patterson's face brightened as she looked at him. "You're welcome, Inspector. I'll let you know where Joshua ends up."

Steve nodded, watching as the two officers descended the stairs and crossed to their cruiser, which was angled towards the curb. Closing the door with a tired sigh, he walked to the centre of the living room and looked around, his hands on his hips. He really wanted to find out how Donna had gotten into his apartment without leaving a trace.

He slowly rotated his head from side to side, trying to stretch out the tension that had returned to his neck and shoulders. He was very tired, in body and spirit. He knew he needed to catch a few hours sleep if he was going to be at the top of his game when he finally caught up with Donna, wherever she was. And he wanted to get back to the hospital; he needed to talk to his partner, if only to reassure himself that Mike really was going to be okay.

He crossed to the kitchen door, reaching in and snapping off the overhead light, then moved back into the living room. The table lamp beside the sofa was on. As he leaned over to turn it off, the flashing red light on the answering machine caught his eye.

With a dry chuckle, he straightened up and punched the PLAY button; he had been so preoccupied with trying to solve the Donna conundrum that he hadn't noticed the pulsing message light. Chances are it's Ellie, he thought with a smile.

There was a click, a soft hiss and another click as the cassette engaged, rewound then began to play. _"Steve…?"_ It was Ellie, but her voice was high and strained, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. _"Steve, honey, it's Ellie… I need you to come over, okay…? As soon as you hear this, please come over… It's, ah, it's important, okay…?"_ There was another click as the message ended.

Paralyzed, he stared at the machine, hearing nothing but the blood pounding in his ears. Then he was in motion: he sprinted to the closet, throwing the door open and reaching way in the back of the top shelf. He took out a small metal box, his hands shaking so much he almost dropped it.

Several seconds later, he was out the door, not even bothering to lock it behind him as he flew down the stairs and sprinted to the LTD. As it squealed away from the curb, he snapped the siren on, driving with one hand as he groped under the passenger seat, pulling the cherry towards him and slapping it onto the roof over his head.

# # # # #

There was no one on Buchanan when Steve started up the maroon-painted concrete steps that led to the front door of the small, three-storey Edwardian. The curtains behind the large picture window were closed but there was at least one light on in the living room.

As he quietly climbed higher, Steve glanced up; there were no lights on in either of the second floor bedrooms or in the study on the top floor. He glanced behind him. A bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle was parked halfway down the block. Steve briefly closed his eyes and exhaled forcefully. "Damn!" he whispered softly to himself. The Bug belonged to Ellie's housemate, Carla.

He reached the door and paused, listening. He heard nothing. Taking a deep breath, he reached across to his left hip, unsnapped the holster and drew the .38. He flipped the safety off then put it back.

He knocked on the wooden door. "Ellie," he yelled, "it's Steve!"

There was a brief silence, then a voice answered, "It's open!"

Steve froze and closed his eyes. It was Donna.


	17. Chapter 17

Taking a deep breath, trying to stop his hand from shaking, Steve turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open. The house was dark, but the soft spill of light from the living room to his right partially illuminated the hallway and the staircase ahead of him.

"We're in here," came Donna's voice from the living room; she sounded almost cheerful. He turned and closed the door firmly behind him, then faced the hallway once more, pasting what he hoped was a neutral expression on his face as he stepped into the archway. He stopped, catching his breath.

Ellie was sitting in a kitchen chair in the middle of the room. She was wearing a blue-and-white print dress that he recognized; one she would have worn to court that day. Her arms were behind her back; large swathes of duct tape circled her body and her legs, binding her to the chair. A piece of the same tape covered her mouth, and she stared at him with wild terrified eyes. Her mascara was smudged and he could tell she had been crying.

Donna was standing behind her, smiling warmly. "Well, it sure took you long enough to get here," she said pleasantly, chuckling as she took a couple of steps to the side. Her right hand came out from behind her back and he gasped almost inaudibly. A large butcher knife was in her hand, one he recognized as Ellie's, one he himself had used when they had cooked together. He knew how sharp it was.

Donna raised the knife and, in the dim light from the sofa lamp, Steve thought he saw blood on the blade and her hand. He looked at Ellie; she had watched his eyes and knew what he was asking. She nodded vigorously, glancing towards the staircase behind him, and he saw fresh tears spring to her eyes.

Watching the interaction, Donna smiled coldly. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I didn't know Ellie here had a room-mate… a woman!" She chuckled mirthlessly and looked down, shaking her head. "Well, this _is_ San Francisco after all…" She looked up at Steve, her eyebrows knit in confusion. "But you must have known that, right? That she's living with another woman?"

"Carla is a lawyer, just like Ellie," Steve replied calmly, not precisely sure how Donna wanted him to react. "They're house-mates, not room-mates, and they split the rent."

"Ah," Donna said slowly, "so that's what she told you, did she? And you believed her story?"

"It's not a story, Donna, it's the truth."

"The truth…? Hunh…" Donna's unfocussed stare drifted away again and Steve glanced at Ellie, trying to reassure her. "I've had a belly-full of the truth lately…" she whispered, as if to herself. Her head snapped up and she took a step closer to Ellie, raising the knife slightly.

Steve tensed. "What do you want, Donna?"

The young blond woman froze then looked at him slowly. "What do I want?" she echoed, a disconnected smile lighting her plain features. She chuckled. "My god, you should know what I want by now, Steven Keller. I want us to be a family… you and me and your son. That's all I want."

Steve saw Ellie's eyes get even wider, staring at him. He risked taking his eyes from Donna's to glance at her and shake his head ever so slightly. Donna didn't seem to notice.

"Is that why you left Joshua at my place tonight?"

Her eyes focused as she looked at him again. "I had to, don't you see?" She paused then quietly snorted with an almost despondent inevitability, looking down. "I wanted to make you love us, to make you love your son, and it was working… it _was_ …"

"But Joshua isn't my son…" Steve said gently.

Donna's head snapped up. "Yes… yes, he is," she insisted, raising the knife as she took a step towards him. He tensed. "I told you, I got pregnant when we made love at Mount Shasta… you remembered…"

Not wanting to take his full attention from the deranged woman before him he continued to stare into her eyes, but he could see Ellie's reaction peripherally. He wanted to turn to her, to assure her that everything Donna was saying, though technically true, wasn't the complete story.

"No, Donna," he said slowly, shaking his head and keeping his voice low and calm, "no, Joshua is _not_ my son. He's Kyle Sawyer's son."

Donna flinched, and he saw her hand tighten on the handle of the butcher knife. "Who told you that?"

Staring at her, he weighed his options. They were few, but he knew he had to do something to throw her off her game, to give him the chance to diffuse the situation without resorting to violence. "Mike did… before he died…"

Donna pulled her head back sharply and her eyes narrowed. Behind her, Steve could see Ellie's eyes widen in shock then grow bright with tears.

"He's dead?" Donna's voice was almost inaudible.

Swallowing heavily, and obviously, Steve allowed his voice to break. "We found the car, in the ditch… he was still alive but just barely... They had to cut him out and, ah… he, ah…." He stopped and cleared his throat. "He, ah, died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital." He allowed his breaths to become ragged, his eyes to fill with tears.

The brief shadow of a smile played across Donna's lips; in her fevered mind, he knew, one more obstacle to her plan had been eliminated. "He was lying," she said, her eyes widening with hope, "he just told you that to make you think you aren't Joshy's father… but you are."

Steve shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "We found his notes. He was investigating you. He talked to your mother." Her eyes widened slightly and he knew he had touched a nerve. "He found out about all the phone calls you made to Kyle Sawyer. And he talked to Kyle."

She had raised her chin, staring at him defiantly. "That doesn't mean anything."

"But it does, Donna. Kyle told Mike that you came on to him one night in a bar in Red Bluff. You got him drunk and made love to him. Then you started calling him, every day, several times a day. You went to Willow Creek to see him and you made love again and again."

Her nostrils began to flare as her blue eyes bored into him.

" _That's_ when you got pregnant, Donna. Not with me."

"Liar!" The word escaped her lips like a curse. She raised the knife and the lamplight glinted off the stainless steel.

With a heavy sigh, Steve shook his head. "No, I'm not lying… That's where Mike was taking you when you shot him, wasn't it? He was taking you to Willow Creek, to confront Kyle Sawyer about his paternity. You knew your little scam was up and you panicked. Somehow you got his gun and you shot him…" He swallowed heavily, and this time he wasn't pretending. "You got lucky, didn't you? You got banged up and bruised but you survived, you walked away… And you left him to die in that car..."

Unable to stop himself, he took a step towards her and she held the knife out. "Well, you got your wish, Donna. He did die. But what I don't understand is, how in the world did you think that would bring me closer to you… when I found out you killed my best friend? And I _was_ going to find out… you had to know that, right?" With a smile full of pity, he took another step towards her. "How could I possibly love the person who destroyed my world?"

Breathing shallowly through her mouth, her stare turning inward and her head dropping slightly, she stood perfectly still for several long seconds. Her right hand dropped to her side; he tensed. "But _we're_ your world…" she said softly, her head coming up and her eyes finding his. "Joshy and I, we're your world."

He shook his head. "No," he said quietly, "no, you're not. Mike was my world… Ellie is my world…" He gestured with his head towards the petrified woman tied up behind her. Ellie's eyes widened, snapping between Steve and Donna. "And I'm not going let you get away with it." He took another step forward. "It ends here, Donna."

Swallowing heavily, Donna raised the knife and stepped quickly behind Ellie, grabbing her roughly by the hair and pulling her head back. As she stared defiantly at Steve, she raised the finely honed blade and laid it against Ellie's neck.

He froze, trying not to look at Ellie's wide terrified eyes. In the amber light from the table lamp, he could see the rivers of dried blood that stained Donna's hand, and choked down the bile that rose suddenly in the back of his throat. Carla…

"Throw it on the floor," Donna said suddenly, her voice losing all its innocence. His brows knit in confusion. She gestured towards his left side with her chin. "Your gun – take it out, empty it and throw it on the floor."

Inhaling deeply, he flipped open the left front panel of his herringbone jacket and slid the .38 out of the leather holster, hesitating just long enough to make Donna tense up before releasing the cylinder and turning the gun on its side, allowing the bullets to drop to the floor and then tossing it onto the carpet near the chair. The thud it made when it landed made Ellie flinch slightly, and she squeezed her eyes shut when the steel of the blade touched her skin.

Steve wasn't sure how much more she could take. He realized that she must have been in this position for hours now; at the latest she would have been home around 9 and it was close to midnight now. He couldn't imagine how terrified she must be, but he could see it in her eyes and his heart broke.

He allowed his own eyes to slide slowly up to Donna's but he couldn't read her now-expressionless face. He allowed the uncomfortable silence between them to lengthen before he asked softly, "So what do we do now, Donna?"

He watched as she swallowed uncertainly, the hand with the knife lowering slightly. She stared at him, breathing silently through her open mouth, and he tensed. He had no idea what she was going to do.

"We could end this right now, if you want. All you have to do is give me that knife… and it'll all be over. I'll make sure you get the best lawyer there is, you'll get to see the best doctors, and you and Joshua will be together, I won't let them take him away from you."

Her face had begun to soften as he talked, and he thought he could see the faintest trace of hope play across her features. Then suddenly her eyes grew dark and she looked at him angrily. "What doctors?! Why do I need to see doctors?!" she spat out, and his heart sank.

"For you and Joshua, to make sure he stays healthy," he scrambled, knowing he had made a mistake, and he saw Ellie freeze. He heard his blood pounding in his ears.

Donna was shaking her head. "No… no… no… that's not what you meant. You meant a psychiatrist, I know you did. You think I'm crazy, you all do."

It was Steve's turn to shake his head. "No, Donna, nobody thinks you're crazy, nobody –"

With a blood-chilling scream, Donna pulled Ellie's head back, the knife at her throat. "I'll show you just how crazy I am!"

The knife flashed in the lamplight.


	18. Chapter 18

It happened so fast everything became a frantic blur. Screaming again, Donna's arm began to pull back, to draw the razor-edged blade across Ellie's neck. With a scream of her own, muffled behind the duct tape over her mouth, Ellie shifted her weight and threw herself backwards with all her might.

The top of Ellie's head connected solidly with Donna's jaw. Stunned and knocked off balance, the younger woman's head snapped back viciously and the knife flew from her hand, towards the end table beside the couch on her right, clattering as it hit the hardwood floor beyond the carpet.

Her chair breaching the tipping point, Ellie's momentum continued to carry her backwards and the chair slammed into Donna, who lost her balance, falling on her right side and hitting the floor heavily. After a moment of stunned inaction, she started to scramble to her knees.

Steve launched himself forward. He was torn; he knew he had to get the knife before Donna did but Ellie's chair, after connecting solidly with the young blond, was continuing to fall backwards. He made a grab for the chair as he sailed towards Donna, but it was too little, too late. Ellie and the chair struck the floor very hard, and she cried out behind her taped mouth.

He glanced at her; her eyes were squeezed shut in what he could only assume was extreme pain. In that split second, Donna had managed to pick up the .38 sideways and, as he turned towards her, swung her arm, slamming the metal revolver into his temple.

White hot pain exploded in his head and for a split second he blacked out, falling face first onto the carpet. Through the sudden fog in his brain, he could hear Ellie's muffled shouts and opened his eyes, struggling to focus.

Donna was crawling around the carpet, trying to find the bullets to put them back in the .38. He didn't know how many she had already found but she was kneeling in front of the sofa, her right arm underneath, frantically groping about. He could see the cylinder was still open but his vision was blurry and he couldn't tell how many bullets were in it; he had to move fast.

Trying not to moan from the pain, he pulled himself to his knees; she was too busy to notice. He reached out, grabbed her dress and pulled her backwards, slamming her onto the floor with as much force as he could muster. She yelped in pain and surprise, then quickly pulled out of his grasp and struggled to sit up, launching herself at him in a frenzied tackle.

He fell heavily onto the carpet, the back of his head hitting the floor solidly, and his world went white again. With a heavy groan, he started to push himself up onto his elbows, gasping for breath, everything spinning.

Donna had turned back to the sofa, her right hand once more rooting around underneath for more bullets with an almost catatonic focus.

Her hand had found another one and she sat back with small, almost maniacal cackle as she slid it into place and snapped the cylinder shut.

Her eyes wide with fanatical triumph, she started to turn towards the incapacitated cop when she felt the pressure of cold metal at the base of her neck.

"Don't… move…" Steve hissed, his voice low and deadly. She froze, the gun in midair, hearing the unmistakable sound of a hammer being cocked. Her eyes slid slowly to the left and she could see Steve staring at her with unconcealed fury. His left hand came up slowly and he put it on the .38, wrenching it from her hand as behind him the front door slammed open and four uniformed officers charged into the room, sweeping the scene before them with their Police Specials at the ready.

One of the officers came up behind Steve slowly, reaching down to take the .38 from his left hand. "We've got this, Inspector," the uniformed sergeant purred smoothly as he straightened up, handing the gun to the officer behind him and holstering his own.

Steve continued to hold the .22 against the back of Donna's neck. He could hear the familiar sound of handcuffs being unsnapped.

"Inspector," the sergeant repeated a little more firmly, "we've got this."

Blinking slowly, Steve began to pull the .22 away from the back of Donna's neck. He sat back on the carpet as the sergeant stepped around him and grabbed the young woman's arm, pulling her roughly to her feet. "Hands behind your back."

As Donna complied almost meekly, Steve closed his eyes, trying to deal with the pounding inside his skull. He felt nauseous and, laying the .22 on the carpet beside him, braced both hands on the floor to try to stop the room from spinning. He was vaguely aware of the activity in the room around him.

Two officers crossed quickly to Ellie, who was lying on her side, still taped to the chair and moaning in pain. As they very slowly and carefully righted the chair again, Steve suddenly remembered, trying to sit up as quickly as he could. "Ambulance… upstairs…" he mumbled, attempting to push himself to his feet. The pain in his head pulsing, he sank back down onto the carpet.

The sergeant, Carelli, turned to his fourth man and nodded up the stairs; the patrolman took the steps two at a time. Finished handcuffing Donna, he turned her roughly and pushed her down on the sofa. Holding a finger towards her face, he growled, "You so much as move and I'll put a bullet in you myself." He turned to the two officers assisting Ellie. "Kramer, get down to the car and call for two ambulances and back-up."

"Yes, sir," Kramer answered as he stood and ran for the door.

"Sarge!" came the urgent cry from the second floor.

Carelli glanced at the officer with Ellie, who was trying gently to remove the tape from her mouth. "You got this?" he asked and the patrolman nodded. Carelli raced up the stairs.

Starting, he thought, to get his dizziness under control, Steve tried to push himself up again. He managed to get onto his hands and knees and crawled the few feet to Ellie, still in the chair. The officer was gently pulling the remaining small corner of tape from her mouth. She gasped for air, sobbing, as she stared into Steve's worried eyes; he knelt before her and reached up to gently cup her face in his shaking hands.

"I'll get a knife," the officer, Demsky, told them both as he started towards the kitchen.

"There's one under the end table," Steve said, not taking his eyes from Ellie's, moving his head slightly in the direction of the couch. He closed his eyes briefly as a wave of dizziness overcame him again.

Kramer could be heard coming back in the front door. "Ambulances and back-up on the way, Sarge!" he called up the stairs then, "Sit back down and don't move!"

Steve turned his head slightly; Donna was on her feet, staring at the patrolman. With an angry snort, she flopped back down on the sofa. Kramer returned to the front porch.

Demsky found the knife under the end table and knelt beside Ellie. Very carefully he began to cut through the duct tape binding her to torso and arms to the chair while Steve held her face and stared into her eyes. She was shuddering, both from fear and pain. Within seconds, the tape on her right side was cut free from the chair and she gasped from the jolt as it gave way, closing her eyes and grimacing. Demsky froze, staring at her profile, his brows knit in concern.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked worriedly.

She caught her breath, looking at him through eyes brimming with tears. "My arm…" she gasped softly, "I think I broke my right arm…"

Steve glanced at Demsky and the young patrolman nodded. "I'll be very careful, ma'am, but we've got to get this tape off you."

"Ellie," she said with a wry smile and a very slight chuckle, "My name is Ellie, Officer…"

Demsky's face split in a broad grin and he laughed. "And I'm Peter, Ellie… nice to meet you."

Steve smiled at them both, proud of the poise and gentle maturity the rookie was showing. He rubbed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs as he held her and Demsky went back to work.

Approaching sirens could be heard. Through the pain and the trembling, she smiled at Steve as best she could. "You're bleeding," she said softly, her eyes briefly drifting to his left temple.

He took his left hand from her face and touched his forehead near his left eyebrow; he could feel the blood and large lump. "I'm okay," he assured her. Demsky looked up at him and frowned, then said quietly to Ellie, "I'm almost finished on this side, brace yourself."

Steve held her face in both his hands again and she closed her eyes. The last of the tape around her chest and arms was cut and she was jostled slightly; she winced in pain, allowing a little whimper to escape her trembling lips. He bent forward and tenderly kissed her mouth, then leaned his forehead against hers as Demsky went to work on the tape around her legs.

As gently as he could, Steve started to remove the tape from her dress, being extra careful peeling it from her bare upper arms, trying not to jostle the injured one. She froze and caught her breath, trying not to gasp in pain; she knew he was being as careful as he could. Tenderly, he helped her bring her arms from behind her back; she tried not to cry as she cradled her rapidly swelling right forearm with her left hand, holding it close to her body.

He carefully put his arms around her, laying his cheek against the top of her head. Then suddenly he felt her stiffen and she pulled her head back slightly and looked into his eyes. She gasped again. "Carla… my god, Steve…"

He nodded sharply, continuing to stare into her eyes as comfortingly as he could. "I know, honey, I know…" he soothed, "I'm so sorry…"

She closed her eyes again and began to sob and he pulled her into his arms as Demsky cut through the last of the tape binding her legs to the chair. He pulled her up with him as he stood and embraced her tightly; she sagged against him.

He held her while she got her strength back and, when he felt she was steady enough, began to move her slowly towards the front door. Thought his head was pounding and the room spinning slightly, his only concern was for Ellie right now. He wanted to get her out of the house.

An ambulance screamed to a stop at the curb, the doors flying open.

Steve was just about to lead Ellie into the hallway when Carelli came flying down the stairs and out onto the small porch. "We've got a stabbing victim on the second floor – critical! Get up here fast!" he yelled at the ambulance attendants and they started to move even faster.

Ellie turned to Steve, grabbing his shirt. "Oh my god, she's alive!" Ellie breathed, her face almost lighting up, as if she had been given a reprieve.

He smiled and brushed her hair back gently as her tears began to flow again. He realized that they'd be in the way if they went out the front door right now so he turned her towards the kitchen and they started slowly down the corridor, further into the house.

As he sat her down at the kitchen table, still cradling her injured arm, they could hear the loud clatter of the ambulance attendants climbing the stairs with all their equipment. He knelt in front of her again, taking her face once more in his hands and looking deeply into her reddened eyes. "Other than your arm, are you sure you're all right?"

Inhaling as deeply as she could, she nodded, trying to smile. Then her chin started to tremble and she sobbed, her face crumbling. "Oh Steve, I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry about Mike…"

His eyebrows flew up and he stared at her blankly for a second until he suddenly realized that of course she had believed what he had told Donna. "Oh my god, darling, I lied to her, I lied to Donna, I had no choice…"

She stared at him disbelievingly. "He's not dead?" she whispered hopefully.

Steve smiled broadly, relieved that he could finally impart some good news. "No, honey, no… he _is_ in the hospital, she _did_ shoot him and leave him for dead in a wrecked car, but he's fine… he's fine…"

She continued to stare, saying nothing and he wondered if she really believed him. "Ellie, I wouldn't lie to you, I promise… he's fine…" He leaned into her and gently wrapped his arms her around again, pulling her head against his chest.

In the rest of the house, he could hear the sirens of arriving cruisers and the second ambulance, the shouts and the commands, the heavy footfalls of officers and medical personnel going up and down the stairs. But in the oasis of the empty kitchen, they held each other and cried, both of them realizing how lucky they had been.


	19. Chapter 19

The doctor snapped off the penlight then removed his finger from the detective's eyelid. Steve blinked exaggeratedly a few times, then looked at the doctor with a frown. The physician smiled. "Well, you have a mild concussion, Inspector. Not surprising, considering that lump on the side of your head there." He nodded towards the bandage with his chin. "You're lucky, could've been a lot worse."

Steve blew out a relieved sigh. "Thanks, doc."

"But you're not to go back to work for at least a week. I want you to stay home and lay low, gets lots of rest and sleep as much as you can. You gotta allow that… brain bruise of yours to heal."

"Gotcha. Believe me, I think I could use a week off right about now."

The doctor chuckled. "You're probably gonna develop quite a shiner too, I wouldn't be surprised. You're really lucky you didn't crack your temporal bone." He looked at Steve quizzically. "What hit you, anyway?"

Steve dropped his head, looking almost sheepish. "My own gun," he said softly, clearing his throat.

After a brief hesitation, the doctor said simply, "Well, I bet there's a helluva story behind that."

"Ah, yeah. Almost a novel…"

"Well, you just do like I said, get a lot of rest and don't over-exert yourself, and you'll be okay."

"Thanks, Doc."

# # # # #

His head pounding, Steve slowly put his jacket on as he walked down the corridor in Emergency. He glanced at his watch; it was just after three in the morning. With a tired and angry sigh, he continued carefully, trying not to jar his head unnecessarily. There was a gaggle of patrolmen at the end of the hall and as he approached, they turned to him.

"Ellie?" he asked quietly.

"She's in there," one of them said, pointing towards an examination room door a little further down the corridor.

"Thanks, fellas," he said with a nod as he adjusted his cuffs, turning in the direction indicated. He stopped and looked back. "The other woman that was brought in –?"

"She's still in surgery," a uniformed sergeant interrupted with a grim smile. "She's hanging in there."

Steve nodded, looking down. "Good, good," he whispered, almost to himself.

He knocked lightly on the examination room door before pushing it open. Ellie was sitting on an examination table being attended to by a doctor and nurse. The doctor was sitting on a stool, facing her, the nurse standing nearby, a large rolling tray of various materials, including a white enamel bowl of water, beside her.

Ellie looked up, her face lined in pain. The nurse was helping her hold her right arm out while the doctor was slipping a cotton-stocking sleeve over her hand and settling it on her forearm.

"It's broken," she said to Steve with a sigh that sounded a lot like a whimper, and he smiled sympathetically.

"But it's not a displaced fracture," the doctor weighed in with a twinkle in his voice, "and that's the best kind, isn't it, Jane?" He glanced up at the middle-aged nurse standing beside him, who handed over scissors to cut the sleeve to length.

"You bet. We've seen a lot worse."

The doctor glanced up over his glasses. "Mark Pauley, Orthopedist," he introduced himself with a crisp nod. "This is Nurse Tucker." He gestured with his head and the nurse nodded with a smile.

"Oh, ah, Steve Keller, SFPD."

"Ah, _you're_ the cop," Pauley chuckled, looking up at Ellie and grinning.

Ellie smiled at Steve, biting her bottom lip. She chuckled softly. "How are _you_?" she asked, and he had the feeling she was trying to change the subject.

He smiled back. "Mild concussion. I've been told to take a week off and do a lot of sleeping."

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Pauley said pointedly, glancing up at Ellie once again as he began to wrap a layer of cotton batting over the sleeve. "But Miss Ellie here tells me she's in the middle of a big court case and can't miss any time."

"Did she tell you it was the Tolivar case?" Steve asked, facing the back of Pauley's head but keeping his eyes on Ellie. She glared at him in annoyance, cocking her head, her eyes widening. He chuckled.

Pauley whistled, impressed, and glanced up at her again. "No," he said measuredly, "no, she did not mention that. Well, that's a different story altogether." He shot a look towards the nurse. "Jane, our work here is going to be famous. Let's do our best, shall we?"

"Of course, Doctor," Tucker laughed with a grin.

Rolling her eyes, Ellie looked at Steve again and her smile disappeared. "Have you heard anything about Carla?" she asked tentatively, trying to keep the fear from her voice.

His own face sobering, Steve nodded. "She's still in surgery." He attempted a reassuring smile. "She's holding on, Ellie."

Tears springing to her eyes, biting her lower lip, Ellie nodded and dropped her head.

"Listen, ah," he said softly, and she looked back up at him, "I'm, ah, I'm gonna head up to the fourth floor for a bit, see how Mike's doing. He's probably asleep but… Ah, anyway, I'll be back shortly, okay?"

She smiled at him under glistening eyes and nodded.

# # # # #

Steve pushed the heavy wooden door open and started to step into the dark hospital room. He heard someone getting up off a metal chair and Devitt stepped in front of him. "Oh, it's you," the captain said, relaxing and putting a hand on the younger man's arm.

Steve looked past his colleague to the bed; Mike was sound asleep, looking much as he had so many long hours ago. Devitt followed his gaze.

"He was determined to get up and warn you about Donna Atkinson last night," he said with a wry chuckle, "bullet in his leg or not. I finally had to get them to slip him a sleeping pill." Steve turned sharply to glare at the captain. "He's going to be really pissed off at me when he wakes up. It would help if you were here." His voice had taken on a hopeful timbre and he smiled beseechingly.

Steve snorted in amusement, despite himself, and took a step closer to the bed. He couldn't believe how long it had been since he had actually spoken to his partner – _was it four days maybe?_ he asked himself.

Devitt noticed the bandage on his temple. "Are you okay?" he asked, concerned.

Steve nodded, not taking his eyes off Mike. "We, ah… Donna Atkinson's in custody," he said simply and quietly.

"That's good news," Devitt said with a pleased snort then added quickly, "Did _she_ do that to you?"

Steve nodded again. "Yeah… yeah, she sure did." Almost absently, he reached out and put his hand gently on his partner's arm; the older man didn't move. Then he turned sharply to Devitt and smiled slightly. "I'll tell you all about it later, okay? I just wanted to see how Mike's doing. I have to get back to Ellie."

"Ellie?"

"Yeah, Ellie Bridger. From the D.A.'s office? She on the Tolivar prosecution team."

"Brunette? About your height? Drop dead gorgeous and smart as a whip?"

With a closed-mouth grin and raised eyebrows, Steve nodded vigorously.

"You and she…?" Devitt raised his own eyebrows and wiggled a forefinger back and forth.

Steve nodded again.

"Lucky you," the older man chuckled enviously. As Steve took a step towards the door, Devitt's head snapped towards him. " _Back_ to her? Is she here too?"

Steve turned, his expression sobering. "Yeah… Donna… ah, Donna Atkinson paid her a visit."

"A visit?" The tumblers began to click into place in Devitt's mind. "Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she'll be fine. I'll tell you all about it in the morning, okay, Roy?"

Realizing that he was being forestalled for the time being, however gently, Devitt nodded. "Okay."

"Oh, ah, we don't have to worry about Donna coming after Mike anymore," Steve said. "You can go home now if you want."

Devitt looked from one partner to the other. "No," he said slowly, "no, it's okay. I'll wait until morning, till he's awake. Let him yell at me," he finished with a grin and a wink.

With a grateful smile, Steve left the room.

# # # # #

Ellie was still sitting on the examination table when Steve returned, but her cast was finished and her right arm was resting on a towel on a high rolling table at her side. She was alone. She looked at him with a wan smile. "It has to dry," she said.

He crossed the room to her side. "How long?"

She shrugged. "Another ten minutes…?"

"And then what?"

"Doctor Pauley told me I could go home." Her face went white. "Steve, I don't want to go home." Her voice cracked slightly.

"No, no, of course not," he said quickly, sitting beside her and putting his arm carefully around her shoulders, pulling her against him. "I've, ah, I've been thinking about that. You're coming back to my place. I have to take it easy for the next week, so we can look after each other. What do you say?"

She smiled at him then leaned her head against his shoulder. "Thank you…" She sighed heavily. "But I don't want to leave until we know about Carla… okay?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Of course," he said softly, smoothing her hair down under his chin. He could feel her breathing, knowing she was trying not to cry again.

She cleared her throat slightly. "How's Mike?"

Steve smiled warmly. "He's okay. He's asleep. Roy Devitt said they had to give him a sleeping pill last night; he was threatening to get up and leave, to go find Donna. He figured she was after me."

"Hunh," Ellie snorted gently, "he was right, wasn't he?"

"Yes, he was."

"But didn't you tell me he has a bullet in his leg?"

He chuckled softly. "Yes, he does – but you don't think that minor detail would stop him, do you?"

She chuckled warmly and buried her head deeper into his shoulder. "He loves you a lot, doesn't he?"

Steve's voice stuck in his throat and he swallowed heavily. "Yes, he does," he whispered, pulling her closer.

# # # # #

He turned the key in the lock then opened the front door, stepping back to allow her to cross the threshold first. He closed the door and turned to her; she was standing in the centre of his living room, cradling her right arm sling with her left.

They stared at each other for several long beats, expressionless, then a mischievous smile began to appear on her tired, mascara-streaked face.

"What?" he asked with a short laugh.

"Just a phrase I remember my grandmother saying. She'd say we looked like something the cat dragged in backwards through a hedge." She laughed the deep throaty sound he loved so much and he laughed too.

He crossed to her and they embraced carefully and gently. "Look, I have this really nice new pair of pajamas that would look great on you, what do you think?"

"Well, seeing as this," she indicated her now soiled and torn print dress, "is all I have with me at the moment…"

He laughed and kissed her forehead. "Come on, let's go to bed. I want to be there for Mike when he gets the bullet out this morning." Putting his arm around her shoulder, he turned her towards the stairs and they slowly and carefully made their way up to the bedroom.

# # # # #

A low moan was the first indication that the homicide lieutenant was starting to come out of the anesthetic. Steve got up slowly from the metal guest chair and stood over the bed.

Mike's head began to move slightly and he moaned again. Steve picked up his left hand and leaned closer. "Mike," he whispered then waited for a response. The older man stopped moving for a split second, then his head shifted again and his eyes opened slightly.

As they began to focus, Steve smiled broadly. "Hey, there you are…"

Mike blinked several times, his face expressionless, staring at his partner leaning over him. Then he raised his right hand, put it on the back of the young man's neck and squeezed, tears springing to his eyes.


	20. Chapter 20

"You're all right?" Mike's voice was low but strong, and he squeezed the back of his partner's neck even tighter.

Steve smiled wryly but warmly. He knew Mike wouldn't miss a thing, especially not the bandage on his left temple. He nodded carefully, not wanting to jostle his head. "I'm fine, believe me. I took a shot to the head and I've got a very minor concussion, but it's nothing to worry about."

"You're sure?" Mike looked deadly serious.

Steve gently laid a reassuring hand on the older man's chest as he sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm sure." He increased the pressure slightly, and briefly, to emphasize his point. Mike nodded and the ghost of a smile appeared on his worried face; his hand slid from the back of Steve's neck to his cheek, where it paused for a second before returning to the bed.

Steve opened his mouth to ask his partner how he was feeling but Mike cut him off. "Did you find her? Donna? Did _she_ do that to you?" He nodded towards Steve's head again.

The younger man weighed just how much he wanted to tell his partner at the moment. If he was being honest with himself, he'd hoped to wait until they were both recovered and back to work, so they could sit somewhere comfortable over a beer, the recent events having taken on a perspective that wasn't so fresh and raw.

"Yeah, we got her," he said simply. "She put up a hell of a fight, just like she did with you," he patted Mike's chest gently, "but we got her. She's not going to hurt anybody else, I guarantee that."

The older man knew he wasn't being told, or was going to be told, the whole story, or even the bare bones of what had transpired, right now, but he also knew his partner well enough to know that Steve had his reasons. He would be forthcoming, eventually, at the right time and in the right circumstance. It was too soon for them both, he knew. His own emotions were still too close to the surface.

"What's happening with her son?"

"Joshua?"

Mike nodded, surprised when a warm softness crossed the younger man's features.

"He's with Children's Services right now. I'm not sure what they're going to do with him, but she won't be getting out anytime soon so I guess he's going to be put into a foster home."

"Poor kid," Mike said wistfully, looking away. "He doesn't deserve any of this. None of this is his fault."

"Yeah." Steve took a deep breath then added, before Mike could persue the subject any further, "So, how are _you_ feeling?"

Mike snorted, smiling slightly. "What do you call it when you feel like you've been hit by a truck?"

"I think it's called being hit by a truck," Steve offered facetiously.

"Then that's how I feel," Mike laughed softly and rolled his eyes, then grimaced. "I don't think there's any part of me that doesn't ache or throb or pound…"

Steve smiled and chuckled then his brows knit. "Well, to be perfectly honest, you were kinda hit by a real tree instead of a hypothetical truck. So I think that's to be expected." His face was serious but his tone was light.

The older man froze, frowning comically. After a short pause, he said with mock gravity, "Hmmm, well, I guess you're right about that. Good point." They stared at each other for a beat and the mood turned serious. "You were there?" Mike asked quietly.

Steve nodded.

"I didn't think I was going to make it," the older man said softly, his gaze turning inward, and Steve increased his touch again. He didn't want to say he had felt the same; remembering those few terrifying minutes was something he had no desire to relive.

"Some amazing people got you out… the best…"

Trying to keep his emotions in check, Mike nodded. "I'd like to meet them when I'm feeling better."

Steve grinned. "I think that's a great idea. And I have a feeling they'd like to meet you too… especially Dr. Halperin."

Clearing his throat slightly, shifting position on the bed to get more comfortable, Mike winced and caught his breath for a split second, closing his eyes. When he opened them, he saw Steve's worried stare and asked, "So, ah, I still don't know how they found me. Do you know?"

Realizing his attention was being diverted, Steve sighed loudly then chuckled. "Well, uh, I guess you can thank a glazier, a bottle of Coke and Mother Nature."

Mike's brow furrowed. "What?"

Steve laughed again. He told Mike about Jack Hill and his exploding Coke bottle. "So he, ah, he decided to needed to, ah, _relieve_ himself while he had the opportunity, and he happened to do so right above where your car was… " He let his voice peter out, allowing Mike to connect the dots all by himself.

The older man stared at him expressionlessly and Steve waited. Finally Mike tilted his head slightly and opened his mouth, but said nothing. Then he snorted lightly. "So you're telling me I'm here right now because some guy had to take a piss…?"

Steve raised his eyebrows and nodded with a closed-mouth grin. "Umh-humh."

Very slowly Mike started to laugh and Steve joined him. With a groan, Mike wrapped his arms around his chest, but he kept laughing. "Oh god, that hurts," he moaned between chuckles and Steve put a hand on his forearm.

When they finished, Mike looked at his partner, gasping for breath but still smiling. "Did you get his name?"

"I'm sure they did. I can find out for you."

"Good. I want to send him a case or two of Coke. It's the least I could do."

"I think he'd love that," Steve chuckled. He sighed. "What are you going to tell Jeannie?"

Mike shot him a facial shrug. "I've been thinking about that. It's gonna be hard to explain a new car without telling her what happened to the old one. But she's not coming home till next month so at least _I_ should be okay by then. I'll just have to come up with a plausible story about the car, that's all."

He figured that Steve wouldn't want his daughter knowing about Donna and Joshua until, if ever, he told her himself. Steve had always treated Jeannie like an adored little sister, and he always wanted to shield her from anything that would put him in a bad light in her eyes. Of the many things Mike cherished about this young man, that, to him, was one of the most important.

"Well," Steve offered, "it _was_ an old car… which was a good thing, actually." He told Mike about the broken seat bolt that may have been instrumental in saving his life. "I swear, I've never known someone with as many angels on their shoulder as you seem to have."

Mike's eyes brightened slightly and he looked away. "Yeah, I guess those angels help to make up for the fact that I really let my guard down with Donna. I knew she was obsessed… with you," he looked into his partner's eyes, "and she was going to extraordinarily great heights to set you up to believe you were Joshua's father…" He snorted self-deprecatingly. "I swear, Steve, I never thought she's was dangerous… let alone homicidal… She took my own gun away from me… Maybe I'm losing my touch. Maybe I'm getting too old for this…"

Steve put his hand once more on his partner's chest, pressing a little harder. "I don't believe that for a second. And you want to know why?" He waited till Mike nodded slightly, brow furrowed in curiosity, then he pointed to the bandage on his own temple. His hand had been forced and he knew he needed to come clean. "Donna did this to me, with _my_ own gun."

"What?" Mike asked softly, surprise in his voice. "How?"

With a self-deprecating snort of his own, Steve told his partner of the standoff in Ellie's apartment. Mike let him finish before the questions started to emerge. "Is Carla…?"

"She's in Intensive Care; she's still critical but the doctors say she has a good chance. Ellie's with her right now."

"And Ellie - ?"

"She has a broken arm, like I said, but other than that, she's fine. She's shaken up, of course, but…"

"And you disarmed Donna without hurting her…? You did good, buddy boy." Mike put a hand on Steve's arm and squeezed; there were tears of pride in his eyes.

The younger man chuckled self-consciously. "I'm just sorry I got us all into this in the first place."

"It's not your fault. Don't go blaming yourself." Mike cleared his throat then sighed, thinking. "Hey, ah, when is Donna being arraigned, do you know?"

Steve shook his head. "I'm not sure, I think it's tomorrow morning."

"I want to be there," Mike said firmly.

"What?"

"I want to be there. They're letting me out tomorrow morning, and I want to be there. You just told me she thinks she killed me, right?" Steve nodded. "Then let me put the fear of God into her. What do you say?"

# # # # #

Steve helped his partner into the suitcoat then picked the fedora up from the bed and held it out. Mike settled the coat on his shoulders and adjusted the cuffs then took the hat.

With Norm Haseejian acting as chauffeur, Steve had dropped by Mike's house on the way to the hospital that morning, picking up toiletries, a suit, shoes and other necessary clothing, and the second, back-up fedora. He knew the first one was being cleaned and reblocked, a task that Dan Healey was overseeing.

"Oh," Steve said suddenly, reaching towards the end of bed and picking something up. "I don't need this anymore and I thought you could use it." He held out the cane he'd used when he had been shot in the leg a few months back.

"Hey," Mike laughed, his face lighting up, "that's a great idea." He took the cane, brandishing like a sword before dropping it to the ground and putting his weight on it as he took a tentative step.

"How does your leg feel?"

Mike looked up, still smiling. "Not bad. Especially with a couple of Tylenol in me." He looked around the room. "Now where's that wheelchair?"

# # # # #

The elevator door opened and Haseejian charged out first, heading towards the small arraignment courtroom. Moving considerably slower, Mike and Steve started down the corridor.

By the time they got to the courthouse door, the homicide sergeant had disappeared inside and re-emerged with his partner. Dan Healey watched anxiously as they approached. "You guys got here just in time," he said quickly, glancing back through the window in the courtroom door.

"Gerry's just about to get up to ask for 'no bail'. Her mouthpiece has been making her out to be this little innocent who's being set up by you two. You," he pointed at Steve, "want her son but not her, and you," his finger turned to Mike, "tried to kidnap her and take her upstate. And she's sitting there all sweet and smiling and looking like this lost little girl. They're asking for ROR."

Steve snorted derisively and Mike's brow furrowed.

"Don't worry," Healey continued quickly, "I don't think that's gonna happen. Gerry has everything we've got so far, including her fingerprints on your gun, Mike."

"Well, we need to show the judge just how unstable she is," Mike smiled at his sergeant. He turned to Steve. "You ready?"

"Let's do it," the younger man nodded.

"Good. You go in first, let her see you, then I'll join you. Let's see just how good she is at hiding her true colors."

Losing his own smile and setting his shoulders, Steve raised his eyebrows at his colleagues and pulled the heavy door open.


	21. Chapter 21

Steve pushed the courtroom door open as far as it would go; he'd been in that particular room many times before and knew that the door creaked if it was opened all the way. A high-pitched metallic squeal cut through the Assistant District Attorney's address to the judge and almost every eye in the room turned in the direction of the ear-piercing noise; except Donna.

As Steve paused, frowning, Healey and Haseejian slipped in behind him, crossing the back of the room in different directions. Releasing the door to allow it to close, Steve nodded slightly at ADA O'Brien, who had paused his argument when he'd turned towards the sound. O'Brien nodded back.

Donna, who had been staring at the district attorney with an altruistic smile as he had argued for her to remain in custody, turned almost nonchalantly in the direction he was looking, her smile intact. Slowly her soft blue eyes travelled unsuspectingly towards the door.

Steve was staring straight at her. Their eyes met and she froze; he didn't react. Then her smile escalated into a beaming grin and she sat straighter, grabbing the arms of the chair and beginning to stand. Her lawyer, who had followed her gaze, reached out quickly and put a hand on her arm, keeping her seated.

Steve continued to stare expressionlessly. He knew that her reaction alone was enough to puzzle the judge; after all, he had just been told that Steve and his partner had conspired to take her child from her. Why, then, this seemingly enthusiastic and emotional reaction to his appearance, the jurist was certain to contemplate.

Judge Ivers looked from the man at the door to the defendant to the ADA. "Mr. O'Brien, if you could continue please, I do have a full calendar today."

O'Brien looked back at the bench. "Of course, Your Honor, my apologies." He glanced down at his notes, taking a few seconds to decide how he wanted to incorporate this new wrinkle into his argument; he too, of course, had noticed the young woman's reaction to the homicide inspector's unexpected appearance.

Donna was continuing to stare at Steve, the adoration evident in her eyes. To the others in the room, it was almost heartwarming; to Steve, it was terrifying. He knew what she was capable of.

The door behind Steve opened slowly, and Mike Stone limped into the room. He took the few steps to behind his partner, looking over his shoulder and straight at the young woman who had come so close to killing him.

Donna's eyes slid very slowly from Steve's face to Mike's, and he smiled at her. Her smile disappeared as the blood drained from her face. She began to shake as she put her weight on her hands on the arms of the chair and started to push herself to her feet.

Her lawyer felt her move and looked up at her, seeing the fear in her eyes and feeling her muscles tense under his touch. He reached out with both hands to grab her but she was already on her feet. Her stunned look quickly transformed into rage and she opened her mouth.

"No!" half scream, half shout, emerged from deep in her soul, a sound so vicious and unnerving that her lawyer snapped back his chair, taking his hands off her as if she was white-hot. Before anyone could react, she was stepping on the chair, her hands on the back as she tried to vault over the bar into the gallery.

Suddenly Healey and Haseejian were on either side, grabbing her by the arms and pushing her back down. They had unobtrusively worked their way down to the bar on either side of the room, ready for just such a reaction. They held her in place as the court officer sprinted to the defense table; she continued to scream and struggle.

"No! No! You're dead! I killed you!" she bellowed as she writhed around under their grip. Everyone was now on their feet. Her lawyer backed up as the court officer rounded the table, shoving it out of the way and grabbing her. With the detectives help, he pulled her flailing arms behind her back and handcuffed her.

She was roughly turned around and pushed down onto the chair, the court officer standing in front of her. Healey and Haseejian kept their hands on her shoulders to hold her still.

Judge Ivers' loud, authoritative voice cut over the babble that had erupted in the semi-packed courtroom. "Ms. Atkinson, if you don't settle down and shut up I'll have Officer Winslow gag you, do you understand me?!"

Breathing heavily and staring viciously at the uniformed cop in front of her, Donna shut her mouth. After several long silent seconds, Ivers said with a heavy sigh, "I'll take that as a yes." He turned to the ADA as everyone took their seats again, the low murmur of voices continuing. "Mr. O'Brien, in light of… recent events," he said, gesturing towards the defendant and trying to keep the stunned irony out of his voice, "the court agrees with your assessment and Ms. Atkinson is to be held without bail."

O'Brien got to his feet and looked over his shoulder at the two homicide detectives, who were still standing near the door. He smiled slightly and nodded. They both nodded back.

Mike saw Steve lower his head and bring his right hand up to rub his temple. "Are you okay?" he asked worriedly.

Steve stood silently for a moment then said softly, "My head is pounding."

Mike took his elbow and started to pull the younger man back towards the door. "Come on, let's get out into the corridor and we can both sit down." He was attempting to mask his own discomfort as, trying not to limp too noticeably, he guided Steve through the doors held open for them by exiting trial watchers.

There was a bench just to the right of the door and the partners sat; Steve leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. Mike put his hand soothingly on the younger man's back. "Just sit here for a few minutes and I'll get Norm to drive us both home. I want to lie down too," he said with a smile in his voice as he patted Steve's back gently in empathy.

Steve turned his head to look at the older man. "You're not going home alone," he said quietly.

"Well, where else will I go?" Mike asked with a soft chuckle.

"You're not going home alone," Steve repeated. "I want you to come to my place. You've slept on the couch before; you've said it's comfortable, right?"

"It is, you're right, but isn't Ellie staying at your place right now? Your place isn't that big, buddy boy, no offense but…"

Steve sat up a little straighter and turned in the seat to face his partner, trying to mask the discomfort from his throbbing head. "Ellie is going to be in court all day, and at night she's sleeping with me… no offense," he said with an affectionate chuckle. "There's plenty of room for you… and I have a feeling the two of us are going to be doing a lot of sleeping for the next few days. Right?"

Staring at his young friend with raised eyebrows, Mike nodded slowly with a drawn out, "Right." He smiled softly. "If you're sure?"

Steve smiled back and nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure. And, actually, when Norm and I were at your place this morning, I, ah, I picked up enough stuff for you to stay at my place for a week. The bag's in the trunk." He finished with his own raised eyebrows and self-satisfied smirk.

Mike pursed his lips and snorted. "So, ah, so I don't really have a say in this now, do I?"

Steve very carefully shook his head with a small triumphant smile. Mike began to laugh, and slapped the younger man's back fondly as Steve put his face in his hands again. Mike leaned the back of his head against the wall and closed his eyes. Even though it was only a few hours old, it had been a long day.

They were still sitting in that position when Healey and Haseejian exited the courtroom.

# # # # #

He felt the big jiggle slightly then a warm hand on his forehead. He opened his eyes, blinking slowly to allow them to focus. He smiled lovingly and reached up to lay a hand gently against her cheek. "You just get home?" he asked softly; his headache had become a dull throb.

Ellie nodded.

"What time is it?"

"Just before nine. I would've been earlier but I had to catch up. And guess what, I now have a para working with me because," she raised her cast, "I can't take notes anymore." She chuckled and he joined her.

"How is it feeling?"

"Fine. If it wasn't for the cast, I wouldn't know anything is wrong. How are you feeling?"

"Bit of a headache," Steve admitted, but that was as far as he was willing to go. He would tell her about his and Mike's unscheduled appearance at the Atkinson hearing some time down the road, when she wasn't apt to yell at him for risking his health.

"Then you stay right where you are." She started to get up then thought better of it and leaned back towards him again. "Oh, ah, I did notice there's a big lump on the couch downstairs… has a blanket over it? And it seems to be snoring a little bit?"

Steve started to chuckle again. "I didn't want him going home alone, not in the condition he's in right now. Are you mad?"

"Mad? Are you kidding? I'm happy he's here, I really am. I was going to tell you to ask him but I forgot when I left this morning." She smiled at him warmly; she was only too aware of the special bond the two men shared. "Have either of you eaten?"

Steve carefully shook his head.

"Neither have I. I know it's a cliché but I don't feel like cooking tonight for some reason," she chuckled, "so you want me to order a pizza?"

"Sure," he smiled, reaching up to put a hand on the back of her neck and pulling her down so he could kiss her.

Grinning at him, she pushed herself up. "I better order that pizza or we won't end up eating till midnight." She started towards the door.

"Hey, listen," he called quietly after her and she stopped. "Listen, ah, could you make a third of that pizza with –"

"Anchovies, I know," she interrupted with a throaty laugh. "The three of us have had pizza together before, remember?"

"Right," he nodded carefully, chuckling. "Oh, ah, did you get a chance to call the hospital today?" he asked gently.

Ellie smiled ruefully. "I did. There's no change, which I guess is a good thing, right?" There was a desperate hopefulness in her voice that tore at his heart.

He nodded again. "Yeah, I think that's a good thing."

# # # # #

"Well, you're looking better this morning," Mike said over his reading glasses from his seat at the kitchen table, the morning paper in his hand.

Unshaven, his hair uncombed, his burgundy dressing gown over his blue-and-white pajamas, Steve shuffled into the kitchen and straight to the percolator. Picking up a mug from the counter, he poured a cup of the strong smelling coffee, diving into the fridge for the milk before he cleared his throat. "I hope so, it's been three days now." He put the milk back in the fridge. "How come you seem to be doing so well?"

Mike grinned, taking the glasses off and dropping them on the table. "Well, maybe because I'm sleeping alone, with no… distractions." The whimsy in his voice was unmistakable; Steve continued to prepare his coffee, avoiding eye contact.

But when he turned to the table, there was a smug, self-satisfied smile on his face and he raised his eyebrows. "I like the distractions."

Mike chuckled. "I know you do… I'm just saying…" He folded the paper and put it on the table. "Listen, ah, I was thinking of going back to my place –"

"Can you walk without limping yet?" the younger man interrupted.

There was a brief hesitation then Mike dropped his eyes. "Well, no, not yet."

"Then you're not going home." Steve put his mug on the table with a heavy, pointed thud then returned to the counter, pulling the toaster closer and taking two slices of bread out of the wrapper.

Mike contemplated arguing then thought better of it. To be honest, he was elated that the decision had been taken away from him; he really didn't want to leave, but he felt he was infringing on the young couples' lives.

But he still picked up the paper and opened it again with a snap. At the counter, Steve smiled to himself. A few seconds later, as he waited for the toast to pop, he turned to the table and leaned back against the counter.

"Mike, ah, there's something I want to tell you…" He glanced down, as if he was nervous and bobbled his head slightly. With uncharacteristic hesitancy, he looked back up at his partner under a lowered brow and cleared his throat. "I, ah, I'm gonna ask Ellie to marry me."

The older man froze then his face broke into a wide grin. Steve started to laugh, relieved, too caught up in the moment to notice the veneer of melancholy that briefly washed over his best friend's face.


	22. Chapter 22

Norm Haseejian loosened his tie and undid his collar button with a relieved sigh. Dan Healey, his tie already undone, glanced up with a smile when the steaming mug was placed on the coffee table in front of him. "Thanks, Steve," he nodded as he flipped his notebook open and set it on the table.

"Wish it could be a beer, Dan, but you guys are still on duty… sort of… and Mike and I aren't allowed," Steve chuckled as he handed a second cup to Haseejian.

Both sergeants glanced at the lieutenant, sitting quietly in the armchair, who smiled and shrugged in commiseration.

"For how much longer?" Haseejian asked, taking the cup then taking a sip.

"Just another couple of days," Steve called over his shoulder as he disappeared back into the kitchen.

"Well, it'll be great to get you both back in the office. Things are quiet right now but that ain't gonna last," the Armenian sergeant growled as he took another sip of coffee then set the mug on the endtable.

"Unfortunately, it'll be at least another week until either one of us can go back. Steve'll be on desk duty sometime late next week but the doctors won't clear me for another two at least. Something to do with the way my leg is healing."

"Problems?" Healey asked, frowning.

"No, no, just a little slower than they'd hoped."

"Of course, if he stayed off it like he's supposed to, it would probably be fine by now," Steve said pointedly as he reappeared with two more mugs in hand. He glared at his partner as he put one cup on the end of the coffee table closest to the armchair then sat beside Haseejian on the couch.

Healey looked down at his notebook, trying to hide his smile as he picked up the coffee cup. Haseejian looked from one partner to the other and chuckled.

Mike stared at the younger man through narrowed eyes. "So I went out during the day a couple of times… I'm going a little stir crazy here and I have a house to look after, you know. And - wait a minute, you've been going out too," he accused peevishly.

"I wasn't shot in the leg, my house doesn't have a thousand steps and I'm not a gazillion years old," Steve said smugly as he stared straight ahead and took a sip of his coffee.

Haseejian's mouth dropped open and an unexpected guffaw erupted from Dan Healey before he managed to change it into a cough, covering his mouth with one hand as he quickly put his coffee back on the table, trying not to spill it.

Mike's head turned slowly in his partner's direction, his brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed even further. He stared at the younger man's profile silently then his eyes met Haseejian's. "Cabin fever," he said softly, and both sergeants laughed. Eventually Steve started to smile, and Mike chuckled.

"Well, on that note," Healey said loudly and pointedly, still laughing gently, "are you gentlemen ready to hear what we found out?" He picked up his notebook.

"You bet,' Steve said, still smiling as he cradled his mug.

"Shoot," Mike agreed, reaching for his coffee, meeting Steve's eyes and winking as he took a sip.

"Well, most of this you know already, but there might be a few things new here. Let's see," Healey flipped back a page in his book. "Oh yeah, well, you'll be pleased to know, Steve… or maybe not… that it seems Donna knew all about Kyle Sawyer before she, ah… _met_ you," Healey soft-pedaled the word and cleared his throat gently. "He, though, didn't know her. From what she told us, she saw him in a bar one night and thought he was cute but was too shy to approach him. She says when she saw you up in Mount Shasta, she was stunned how much you looked like him and says it was like, ah…" he cleared his throat again, "and I'm quoting here, okay?... _Love at first sight._ "

Healey looked up; the partners were staring at him expressionlessly, while Haseejian was examining the top of his mug. He took a deep breath and plowed on.

"So, anyway, after your little, ah, encounter… she tracked Mr. Sawyer down again and the rest, as they say, is in the report, thanks to Mike." He looked up at the lieutenant and nodded once with a brief smile. The older man nodded back.

"Oh, ah, turns out she made at least three trips to The City in the three months before she showed up on your doorstep, Steve. She stayed at that motel in Daly City every time. That's probably when she stalked you and Ellie and found out all that stuff she did." He glanced up and chuckled. "She might've made a hell of a cop."

The others smiled.

"And from what I gathered, and will confirm, she tracked down some of the other kids that were in Shasta when you were there and asked them all kinds of questions about you, like what you like to eat and drink and listen to, that kinda stuff, so that's why she seemed to know you so well." Healey looked up at Steve. "Creeped out yet?"

The inspector, whose brow had furrowed more and more as the sergeant talked, nodded slowly, as if in a trance. "Getting there…"

Mike looked at him and grinned sympathetically. "How in hell did you get her to open up about all this?" the lieutenant asked, turning his attention back to Healey.

"Didn't you know, Mike?" Haseejian chimed in from his seat on the couch beside Steve. "Dan here's a real smooth talker," he declared with a snide but friendly chuckle.

Healey threw him a long-suffering look. "After Lenny was finished with her, we asked her mouthpiece if we could ask her some questions. She was more than amenable; she answered everything we asked her, not a problem." He glanced at Steve. "She's still in love with you, probably always will be. But in a kind of a Leslie Van Houten-Charlie Manson kinda way."

"Oh thanks," Steve sighed uncomfortably, looking down.

"And you," Healey looked at Mike, "you're more like Bugliosi."

The lieutenant laughed. "Well, I have to admit, I'm kinda glad about that. Maybe she won't try to kill me again."

Haseejian's chuckle was guttural as he slumped on the sofa, staring at his cup; even Steve smiled.

Healey flipped through the notebook. "So, ah, the rest of this stuff you know. Oh, wait, there's a couple of things. Steve, you were wondering how she got Joshua in here?"

The younger man's head came up and he nodded.

"Well, you might want to talk to your neighbors. Especially the ones on the right, towards Montgomery…?" He gestured in that direction with his head. "They have a key to your place?" He looked at Steve, who nodded somewhat vaguely, starting to look defeated. "Seems she knocked on a few doors till she found a neighbor that did, told them you were expecting her but you were working late and had told her to ask them if they could let her into your place. And because she had the kid, they didn't expect anything, uh… sinister…" He cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. "You might want to have a little talk with them…"

Looking more and more stunned, Steve nodded again.

Healey looked back at his notebook. "But," he said loudly and everyone jumped slightly, "the biggest surprise in all this is for you, Mike." He glanced up at the lieutenant, who leaned forward in anticipation. Healey grinned. "So, all that work you put in checking out the kid's – ah, Joshua's blood type to see if he really could be Steve's son?" The older man nodded, his eyes briefly flicking to his partner. "Well, I, ah, I don't know how to break this to you, Mike, but ah… well, Donna had no idea about blood types. None whatsoever."

"What?" Mike's head snapped back slightly in surprise.

Healey smiled and nodded, his eyebrows raised. "Yeah, that's what she told us… and I believe her." On the sofa, Haseejian looked at Mike and nodded as well. "I don't think she'd even heard of the possibility of a kid having a different blood type from their mother. So the fact that Steve and Kyle Sawyer and little Joshua all had the same blood type… well, that was just pure coincidence." Healey snapped his notebook shut, continuing to meet Mike's stare.

"You're not kidding, are you?" the older man said simply, baffled.

Healey shook his head.

Mike looked down at the floor and remained silent for several seconds, then his head came up and he looked at his partner. "Damn," he said with a soft chuckle, "all that work for nothing!"

The other three laughed. Steve grinned. "I know how much you hate that word…"

"What – coincidence? To be fair, I don't _hate_ the word, I just don't believe in it. There's a difference there, buddy boy."

"Would you be happier if we called in serendipity?" Haseejian asked with raised eyebrows.

Mike turned to him slowly. "No."

The Armenian sergeant snorted a laugh. "Okay, gotcha."

The lieutenant shook his head with a chuckle and sat back. "So, fellas, anything you need from us?"

Healey looked from Mike to Steve. "Well, not from you but Steve, just a couple of things to put paid to."

"Sure," the younger man nodded, leaning forward to put his cup on the table.

Healey opened his notebook again and took a pen from his inside jacket pocket. "So that .22 you had – that's your back-up gun?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. I don't carry it very often," he glanced at Mike, "but I felt I might need it… and I was glad I had it. I've never fired it except at the range."

"Yeah, that's what we thought. And one more thing, and this is just to confirm that Carelli and the others were outside Ellie's place all the time, and just waiting for your signal…?"

"Well, ah, I'd called for them when I headed over to her place and both units were there when I arrived. I'd asked for a silent approach. And I told Carelli I might have to talk someone down and I wanted them to only come in if they heard a shot." Steve snorted to himself. "He came in on Donna's scream – he read everything right. I owe him, that's for sure."

Smiling, Dan made a final notation and flipped the notebook closed. "Carelli'll be glad to hear that. He's one of those great older guys who won't give up the street, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah… yeah, I do," Steve said quietly and his eyes slid towards his partner.

"What?" Mike asked innocently then frowned. "Hey, enough with the _old guy_ stuff, okay?" he growled, his smile belying his feigned irritation. He looked at the two sergeants. "So, anything else, fellas?"

"Nope," Dan said as he stood, putting the notebook and pen in his pocket. "That's it. We'll get outa your hair. We'll just add a few things into the report and then it's a done deal. Donna Atkinson won't be seeing the sunlight for a long time, I would think."

Steve looked up at him. "Did, ah, did she say anything about Joshua?" he asked quietly.

Healey looked down at him and sighed quietly. "She didn't say a word… Didn't ask how he was or where he was…"

Haseejian had risen to his feet as well. "She doesn't care, Steve," he said gently, "she really doesn't. All that kid was to her was a way to get to you."

Looking down, the younger man took a deep breath and the others waited. "Where is he?" he asked eventually.

"Children's Services still have him, but we talked to Gerry and they're gonna start the paperwork to get him fostered out and then, maybe, sometime in the future, adopted." Haseejian looked at Mike. "They're gonna get in touch with his biological father, Sawyer, and see what's happening there. What do you think, Mike?"

The lieutenant shrugged, shaking his head. "He's a good kid, Kyle, but… I don't know if he's ready to be a father. And I'd have some objections if little Joshua was put the same house with that mother of his." He paused, a hand coming to his mouth. He sighed. "It's gonna be tough but the little guy deserves better than either of his parents… _I_ think anyway. What about Donna's Mom? She seemed like a pretty down-to-earth woman when I talked to her."

"I'll, ah, I'll tell Children's Services, see what they say," Healey said with an appreciative nod. "Okay, well, we'll get outa here, leave you two to continue your convalescence," he continued with a chuckle as he led his partner to the front door. "Don't forget, we need you both back as soon as possible. It just ain't the same when you two aren't there." The sergeants laughed as Haseejian opened the door.

"Yeah, right," Steve said getting to his feet and crossing to join them.

They were still chuckling as the stepped out into the bright afternoon sunshine. "See ya, Steve," Healey said over his shoulder as he started down the steps.

"You too," the inspector laughed, slapping Haseejian on the shoulder as the Armenian followed his partner. Steve watched as they got into the green Galaxie and pulled away from the curb.

Stepping back into the apartment, he closed the door and turned towards Mike, still sitting in the armchair. They stared at each other in silence for several seconds. Finally, the younger man said, "You want some lunch?"

Mike looked at him without moving then slowly shook his head. "No… no, thanks. I think I just want to lie down for a bit."

The ghost of an affectionate smile playing over his lips, Steve nodded slowly. "Yeah… yeah, me too."

He started for the stairs, knowing that the image of a lonely little boy was foremost in both their minds.


	23. Chapter 23

Steve walked through the heavy opaque-glass door into the bustling office. There were lines of people in front of the large wooden counter that separated him from the rows of desks, manned by harried-looking men and women, most of whom seemed to be on their phones. Other phones were ringing, seemingly unanswered, and the level of chatter, punctuated by the raised voices of angry clients, was almost overwhelming.

Sighing loudly, Steve stepped around the line-ups and crossed to the far end of the counter, slipping his badge and I.D. out of his pocket. When a clerk flashed a look in his direction, he raised the star so it was visible. "Jerry!" the clerk called out, and when a man sitting at a nearby desk looked up, nodded towards the cop.

The weary middle-aged man got slowly to his feet and approached the counter. "What can I do for you…" he leaned forward and peered closer at the I.D., "Inspector?"

Steve snapped the leather case closed and slipped it back into his pocket. "Inspector Keller, Homicide. I need some information on a Joshua Atkinson. He was, ah… taken into CS custody about, ah, about ten days ago."

"Just a second," the older man said, turning and trudging to a nearby file cabinet. He pulled open the overflowing top drawer and began to rifle slowly through the files, eventually pulling out a new-looking beige folder.

With a heavy sigh, he dropped the file onto the counter and opened it. There was a loose hand-written report sitting atop the stack of papers fastened to the folder. Pulling his glasses down from atop his head, he read silently then looked at the young cop. "What is it you want to know?" he asked.

"I, ah, I just need to know if the boy has been fostered out yet."

"Humh," Jerry snorted as he look at the piece of paper in his hand again. "Well, according to this, the boy's been sent up to Sacramento to live with his grandmother, a Mrs. Dorothy Atkinson. Is that the information you need?"

Steve's focus had turned inward and a slight smile was tugging at his lips. He shook his head slightly, as if to clear his thoughts, then looked up the CS clerk and nodded, his smile getting a little wider. "Yes, ah… yes, that's exactly the information I'm looking for. Thank you."

Jerry grunted. "You're welcome." He put the paper back and closed the file as Steve turned and left the busy office, no longer noticing the long lines of distraught people that continued to wait.

# # # # #

Reading glasses on, Mike was sitting at the kitchen table, a newspaper spread out before him. A pad and pen were near his right elbow as he leaned closer to the paper, reading the small print of the want ads. He didn't look up when Steve crossed the small room towards the percolator.

Picking up a clean mug from the counter, Steve glanced at the table. "Hello… I'm back…" he chuckled in a sing-song voice and Mike's head snapped up.

"Oh, sorry, buddy boy," the older man said, taking off his glasses and laughing, "I, ah, I guess I was concentrating…"

"You think?" Finished pouring, Steve turned around and leaned against the counter. He gestured towards the paper with his cup. "What's so interesting?"

Mike glanced down. "Oh, I'm just going through the ads for used cars. I've gotta get a new car soon, and I thought I'd see if there's a decent used one out there."

"Any possibles?"

"A couple, yeah." He sat back, tossing his glasses on the table. "So, what did you find out?"

"Joshua's in Sacramento, with his grandmother." Steve smiled as he took a sip of the strong coffee.

Mike grinned, nodding. "I'm happy to hear that. I think that's the best thing for him, don't you?"

"Yeah, yeah, I do." Steve agreed, his smile getting a little wider. "Yeah, I do."

A companionable silence stretched between them for several seconds as they thought about the little boy and his new and, hopefully, happy future, then Mike asked quietly, "So, ah, have you decided when you're going to… pop the question?"

"Yeah," Steve sighed heavily and shrugged slightly, "I, ah, I've decided to wait till she's finished with this whole Tolivar thing. I don't want to, you know, put too much on her plate while she's still up to her eyeballs with the trial."

"That's a good point," Mike agreed. "Does she have any idea when it's going to wrap up?"

Steve shook his head. "She thinks it'll be at least another week until it goes to the jury." Mike nodded. "But," Steve continued brightly, "she says they're going to recess early tonight for a change, and I'm gonna take her out to dinner!"

"Good for you. It's been kinda lonely around here since she moved back home," the older man laughed softly, but there was genuine melancholy in his tone.

Steve snorted with a soft chuckle. "Tell me about it, but she wants to be there for Carla."

"How's she doing?"

"Well, it's gonna be awhile till she's back to work but, all things considered, she's doing great."

Mike smiled happily, nodding. He knew his young friend was still smarting from the repercussions of Donna Atkinson's obsession. The deranged young woman had not only almost killed his own partner but his girlfriend and her housemate as well. The collateral damage she had caused would stay with all of them for a very long time.

"How are they getting on in their new place?"

Ellie had refused to return to the Buchanan Street house, and she didn't want Carla going back there either. So while her housemate was still in the hospital recovering, she and Steve had spent what little free time she had after the trial had adjourned for the day, looking for a new place for them to live.

They had found a wonderful two-bedroom apartment in a new building closer to downtown, with a rent that even an attorney on the public payroll could afford.

Steve nodded, crossing to the table and pulling out the second chair. "Good, good, they both like it, and it's got a great view of the Bay." He nodded towards the paper as he sat. "So, show me what you've found," he said with a chuckle and Mike, grinning, picked up his glasses and leaned over the paper once again.

# # # # #

"Oh my God, I haven't been here in so long, I forgot how gorgeous this view is," Ellie beamed as she sat in the elegant wooden chair the maitre d' was holding out for her.

Holding his tie in place, Steve sat opposite her and they both nodded at the tuxedoed older man who carefully placed two leather-bound menus before them. "Your waiter will be here shortly to take your drink order. Enjoy your meal," the maitre d' bowed and disappeared.

"Well, you know, we haven't had much luck finding time to do this lately, so I wanted to make tonight special." Steve looked at her lovingly across the exquisitely laid out, white tablecloth covered table, reaching for her left hand.

She reached across the table and squeezed his hand, mouthing, "I love you." He winked and chuckled. "Love you too," he mouthed back.

She raised her right hand to pick up the menu and slammed the cast into the edge of the table, making a racket loud enough to cause several heads in the vicinity to turn in their direction.

She ducked her head and shorted a laugh, looking around guiltily, trying very hard not to grin. "Damn," she whispered sotto voce, "I keep doing that – you'd think I'd be used to it by now."

Steve laughed, releasing her left hand and picking up his own menu.

"God, I'll be glad to get this off," she whined good-naturedly as she opened her menu and looking at him with laughing eyes over the top.

"Patience, patience," he continued to chuckle as he closed his menu and put and it down, picking up the wine list. "So," he grinned at her as his eyes slid down the list of vintages, "what are you feeling like tonight? Red or white?"

# # # # #

He sat behind the wheel of the Porsche for several minutes before he got out. The street was dark and quiet; it was well past midnight. He glanced up at the apartment as he closed the door and pocketed the keys, crossing slowly to the steps and starting up. The small blue-gray clapboard building was completely dark, save for the single lone light near the front door.

He slid the key soundlessly into the lock and turned the tumblers, not wanting to disturb his houseguest. He opened the door slowly, stepping inside and closing it after him. He stood unmoving for several long seconds, his hand still on the door, and released a deep silent sigh.

He had turned away from the door and started towards the stairs when the lamp on the end table snapped on. He spun towards the couch. Mike, still in his clothes, was sitting on the sofa, staring at him.

Steve froze, his eyes boring into his partner's, and neither spoke. But Mike could see the profound sadness on the younger man's face, and a soft smile appeared. He nodded towards the armchair. "Why don't you have a seat?" he suggested quietly.

Wearily, almost reluctantly, Steve crossed to the armchair and sat heavily. His tie was loose and his collar button undone. And he looked disconsolate.

Without saying a word, Mike got up and disappeared into the kitchen, touching the younger man lightly on the knee as he walked past. He re-emerged a few seconds later with two opened beer cans, handing one to Steve as he sat back down on the couch.

The silence lengthened between them; Mike took a sip of beer then put the can on the coffee table and sat back, waiting patiently. Steve didn't move, staring straight ahead, his gaze unfocused, the beer seemingly unnoticed.

"What happened?" Mike asked eventually, his voice soft and gentle.

Steve took a deep breath. "She's, ah… " He cleared his throat. "She's, ah, been approached by the Department of Justice… they, ah, they want her to go to Washington, to work with the Attorney General." He looked at his partner but the older man didn't move.

Eventually Mike asked quietly, "Is she going to go?"

"She, ah, she hasn't made up her mind yet, but she just wanted me to know." He fell silent again, biting his bottom lip and looking down at the can of beer in his hand.

"What did you say to her?"

Steve didn't move; Mike watched him breathe, slowly and deeply, the green eyes staring into an unseen middle distance. The only sounds were the ticking of the wall clock and the hum of the refrigerator. Then the younger man looked up and his brow furrowed.

"You knew, didn't you?"

Mike stared at him evenly for a few seconds then dropped his head and sighed. "She came to me a week ago," he answered softly. "She asked me what I thought you'd say when she told you."

Steve stared at him, his eyes brightening. He inhaled deeply. "What did you say?"

"You really want to know?"

"Yeah."

Mike hesitated, glancing down briefly before he said forcefully, "I told her you were smart enough, and loved her enough, to let her follow her dreams, and follow her heart."

Steve caught his breath and brought a hand up to cover his mouth. He looked down. "You told her that?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah."

The younger man looked down and blinked rapidly several times. "You're a smart man, Michael Stone," he whispered, leaning forward, putting the beer can on the table, his elbows on his thighs and dropping his head.

Mike took a deep breath. "So, what did you tell her?" he asked again, knowing the younger man needed to talk, knowing it was going to be a long night.

Steve snorted mirthlessly; if anyone could get him through this unanticipated upheaval in his life, it was the man sitting with him right now. "I said what I was supposed to tell her, I guess… that I was thrilled for her… what an honor it was to get tapped by the AG… that she should be proud of herself…"

"She hasn't made up her mind yet, has she?"

Steve shook his head, pursing his lips. "No… no, she's still thinking about it, she said… but I think she's made her decision…"

"You think she's going to go?"

Another snort, this one gentle and with a melancholy inevitability. "Yeah, she's gonna go… I mean, why wouldn't she? This is the opportunity of a lifetime. After all, she'd be helping make history… helping to rebuild the reputation of the DOJ after Watergate… Who wouldn't want to be a part of that?"

"It _is_ the opportunity of a lifetime," Mike agreed softly. He looked at the young man affectionately. "What about you?"

Picking up the beer can, Steve sat back and smiled wryly. "What about me?" He took a long draft of beer.

Mike stared at him, trying to gauge his mood, whether there was truth behind his words or just willful obfuscation. "Will you be okay with her decision… if she decides to go?"

Steve exhaled loudly and his gaze unfocused again. He shook his head slightly. "I don't know…" he breathed, his voice almost inaudible.

Mike nodded slowly, looking down. "Sometimes it takes more strength to let go than it does to hold on," he said softly.

The younger man's eyes brightened and he swallowed heavily. He looked at his partner and a gentle smile played over his lips. He snorted softly. "What in the hell will I ever do without you?" he said quietly with a wistful chuckle.

Mike laughed and hung his head. "Well, selfishly-speaking, I fervently hope it's a very long time until you have to find out." He smiled at the younger man affectionately.

"Fervently…?" Steve nodded with a smirk and a frown. "You've been doing crossword puzzles again…"

Mike laughed once more then his smile disappeared. "I'm proud of you… I mean that," he insisted when the young man's head came up and the green eyes stared at him under a confused frown. He cleared his throat. "Steve, a lot of people think that the world revolves around them… and for some bizarre reason, they're shocked when they find out that it doesn't…" He shook his head in disbelief. "The happiest people I've ever met in my life are those who actually believe that what's best for the people they love comes before what's best for them… but there haven't been many… unfortunately…"

He cleared his throat, suddenly embarrassed. "Look, ah, what I'm trying to say is… well, I don't know about you, but I don't feel like calling it a night right now, and I don't think you do either…" His right hand travelled to the sofa cushion beside him and reappeared with a cribbage board. With a grin, and raising his eyebrows with a challenging chuckle, he put the board on the coffee table and reached into his pants pocket, producing a deck of cards.

Dropping his head and rubbing his hands over his face, Steve laughed softly. He looked up into the warm blue eyes and caught his breath. With so much going wrong in his life right now, the most solid of anchors was sitting right in front of him. No matter how bad things would ever become, he knew he would always have this remarkably loyal man at his back.

Leaning forward, he picked up the cards and shuffled, then slammed the deck back on the table. "Cut," he said with a laugh.


End file.
